


Chasing the Night to See the Stars

by ChasingSunlight



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 49,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingSunlight/pseuds/ChasingSunlight
Summary: Jean Moreau comes to the Trojans a broken man. The Trojans, for their part, decide that broken does not mean unlovable.





	1. Prologue

The flight to USC takes every ounce of energy Jean had managed to conserve while convalescing in Abby Winfield’s spare bedroom for the past two weeks. The terminal is too loud, the flight attendants are too cheerful, and the walk to baggage claims is too long. It all leaves him drained on such a level that when he meets Coach Rhemann at arrivals, he doesn’t even spare a sarcastic remark about his capabilities to carry his own bag when Rhemann takes the battered backpack from Jean’s shaking hands. He follows silently and obediently to the nondescript Honda waiting in short term parking and remains silent as they wind their way up the coast towards USC. Jean stares out the window, entranced by the way the light reflects off of the water. The sea smells the same in California as it had in France. He remembers learning to swim under his mother’s instruction, her lilting voice a balm to the fear he had felt as the water buoyed him away from her. He had trusted her then; trusted her to bring him back into her arms if he drifted too far. It turned out that trust, much like the ocean, does not care whether you are prepared to drown.

Rhemann doesn’t attempt conversation. He seems to intuitively understand that Jean does not possess the mental capacity for thoughts beyond _breathe, walk, exist_. The radio hums softly in the background as Jean tries to fit all of the pieces of his shattered life together in his head. It had stunned him to learn that his ownership had been transferred to the main family. He had spent ten years utterly convinced that his life would end at Riko's hands, knowing that the thrill of Exy and the spare glimpses of the sky he reveled in during away games were the only kindnesses life would grant to him. He had been prepared to die that night that Riko chained him to his bed and carved out his abandonment issues on Jean's body. He didn't remember calling Renee, didn't know that there was anything left in him that yearned to live. Yet, here he sat in Rhemann's passenger seat, headed towards something like a future.

None of it makes sense.

Living does not make sense.

The drive from the airport to USC’s campus takes forty five minutes and by the time Rhemann pulls into the athlete’s complex, Jean decides that the pieces are better left scattered on the floor where they can be ignored rather than felt.

\--

USC’s dorms are above ground.

It shouldn’t shock Jean. The Ravens had played the Trojans numerous times. He knows that their team has twenty eight players, that they’ve never been red carded, and that their team exists on such a high level of sportsmanship and kindness that it would be nonsensical to have dorms built underground. Their team is akin to a sunflower, bright and breathtaking. They would never be able to flourish in a place as dark as the Nest. The Trojans needed sunlight like the Ravens needed violence. The sheer number of windows in the complex makes something heavy swell in Jean’s chest. If he weren’t so busy being keeping himself together, it would have stopped him in his tracks.

Instead, he counts them as he follows Rhemann; Clear panes of glass on the entrance door, clear elevator up to the fifth floor, floor to ceiling window in the dorm living room, frosted glass in the bathroom, two windows in the bedroom. Jean lets Rhemann’s voice wash over him as he explains the key fab entrance, that he'll be rooming with Jeremy, summer practices start in a week, if he needs anything like towels or toiletries to let him know. Rhemann’s voice is soft but commanding, genuine in its inflection but never condescending. It soothes Jean to hear someone just speak to him. Not yell or scream or whisper in his ear as a body presses him down into his mattress. Rhemann just speaks to him like he’s allowed to be a person. He knows that he isn’t, but if the Nest had taught him anything, it was the value in pretending out of self preservation.

“I’ll be back in the morning so we can go over your class schedule and order your gear, okay?” Rhemann says, snapping Jean out of his thoughts. He knows better than to not answer a direct question. He can’t speak, doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods instead. Rhemann leaves him standing in the living room, light pouring in through the windows, sky as vast and clear as Jean imagined it every time he closed his eyes in the Nest.


	2. Pen not Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Coach Rhemann learns that words are not necessary for survival.

Sitting in the middle of a diner with Jean Moreau is one of the most awkward experiences of Coach Charlie Rhemann’s life. This is a list that includes, but is not limited to, having to run stark naked across campus as a college freshman, the time his niece tied his shoes together under the Thanksgiving table causing him to trip as he stood up, causing him to knock over a candle and light the entire table on fire, and the time his mother caught him, Tammie Berkshire, and Jared Kane having a threesome in the woods behind the high school when he was seventeen.

The kid doesn’t move anymore than necessary, wears silence to cloak what is so obviously fear. And Rhemann gets that, gets being afraid. Wymack had called Charlie a few days before Jean’s flight was set to arrive to detail the events proceeding the escape of Jean from Castle Evermore. The call left him hunched over his toilet retching, wishing that he hadn’t taken up sobriety twelve years ago. He briefly considers cashing in his AA chips when he get to the airport. Looking at the boy’s battered face at baggage claims had taken at least ten years off of his life. Sitting across from him at a sticky diner table while the boy fumbles through an explanation about not being allowed to eat breakfast was sending Charlie into premature cardiac arrest. Wymack had warned him that Jean had been treated as Riko’s property for the past ten years, but Rhemann honestly hadn’t expected the boy to show up to breakfast and act as though being fed was an unforgivable crime. But Rhemann is not only a Coach, but an uncle and a big brother, so he can roll with the punches. He takes Jean’s menu out of his hands, orders them both whatever special is happening on a Tuesday morning, and proceeds to fill the silence with mundane chatter. He suffuses the space between them with stories of his two younger sisters and their children, mentions that his favorite color is blue, and details the plot of the Law and Order rerun he caught on T.V. last night. Jean never says a word back and spends most of his time toying with the corner of his napkin, but he does glance up beneath the fringe of his hair several times while Charlie speaks and manages a slice of toast and half a glass of orange juice. Rhemann counts it as a win.

——

After breakfast, Rhemann takes Jean back to his office, intent on going over his class schedule and ordering his gear before setting him loose with the p-card to go grab whatever necessities aren’t in the battered backpack that Jean arrived with from Edgar Allen.

“Alright, so we’ve got your transcripts from Edgar Allen. Math scores are great so we’ll opt you out of that. You’re missing a few literature classes though so we’ll just fill you up with one elective this semester and two next semester and you’ll be all caught up. Your only choices this late are Classical Greek Mythology or Contemporary Mexican-American Literature and-“

“I cannot.”

Jean speaks the phrase so quietly that if Rhemann weren’t staring directly at him, he wouldn’t have believed the boy said anything at all. Jean’s voice is tentative, as though he’s not quite sure whether he’s allowed to speak.

“It’s alright, I hated literature too kid, but USC believes in a well rounded liberal arts education so you’re stuck with one of the two.” Rhemann laughs, pulling out the English department options sheet from beneath a jersey catalogue.

Rhemann would be impressed with the level of confused incredulity of Jean's expression if its appearance weren't immediately followed by Jean informing him that, “I cannot take literature because I cannot read.”

Everything in Rhemann’s mind grinds to an abrupt halt as he whips his head up to look at Jean. “Excuse me?” he demands, mentally chastising himself for the harshness of his tone as he sees Jean visibly recoils. “I, uh, I mean, what do you mean you can’t read Jean? You’re halfway through a college degree program. I read your transcripts myself.”

Jean swallows and seems to gather himself before launching into an explanation that Rhemann doesn’t necessarily hear on account of seeing red at the edges of his vision. What he does manage to gather through is haze of anger is that Jean was forbidden from learning to read English because reading is a privilege, he was property, and property does not deserve privilege.

As an African American man from the heart of Georgia, Charlie is well aware of what being property means. His great-great-granddaddy was a slave, his mama got beat up on the back of a bus, and Rhemann himself had been called his fair share of racial slurs at the occasional away game. But his mama and daddy had spent every day making sure he knew how important he was, how deserving he was of existing, of taking up space in the world. They valued intelligence above brawn, making sure that he and his sisters had a quality education. They made damn sure that their three children knew how important books were, how powerful words are in a world that values violence. _Pen not sword_ , his mama used to say. Never in his life had he been anything but encouraged in his pursuit of language and its truth. Jean’s omission leaves him aching somewhere deep inside his chest. He wants to reach out and promise this magnificently talented yet ragged boy that everything will be okay. But he can’t do that because words are not a currency that Jean has ever been allowed to deal in.

“Then we only have one option.” Charlie says, gathering his resolve before continuing. “We’ll just have to teach you how to read.”

The sharp intake of breath cannot go unnoticed in the silence of the office. The surprise and flicker of _hope_ on Jean's face buoys Rhemann forward. “I’ll have the English department sign off on an exemption and you’ll meet me every weekday after practice to learn, okay?”

Rhemann sees Jean considering this all, notes the flush climbing up the boy’s pale neck, sees the way his chest rises a little more rapidly, takes in how his index finger stutters where it lies resting on his thigh. It's only there for a moment. But Rhemann sees the spark in the kid's eyes. He wants it, wants this thing that's been kept form him all of these years. All’s he has to do is take it. _Take it kid, come on._

“Yes.” Jean whispers. 

Rhemann smiles, willing the warmth of his pride to permeate the wall of fear Jean has built around himself. “Alright, now let’s get you some gear, shall we?”

——

As they settle in to order Jean's gear, Rhemann begins making a mental list of all of the things about Jean Moreau that will either send him to an early grave or cause him to end up officially adopting a nineteen year old.

1\. Jean Moreau cannot read

2\. Jean Moreau is the most resilient son of a bitch Rhemann has ever had the privilege of meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking gratuitous liberties with Rhemann's name, history, and looks. Also making everyone younger than they are in the books for potential sequel reasons.


	3. Green Eggs and Ham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean learns that compassion doesn't always come with a price.

Jeremy Knox is overwhelming, in every sense of the word. From the minute he walks into their shared dorm room the day after Jean arrives at USC, he begins to fill Jean’s existence with color and light and sound. So much _sound_. He turns the television on while he cooks breakfast, blares Top 40’s with the car windows down, hums under his breath while he’s getting dressed, sings softly in the shower, and has one sided conversations with a silent Jean as though getting little to no response is perfectly normal. The Nest never had sound that was so buoyant, so filled with _life_ that at first, it unnerves Jean. He jumps the very first time Jeremy inquires as to his tastes in music, to which Jean had stared and replied that he had none. Jeremy had waved it off with a genial we’ll just have to listen to a little of everything then. Jean wants to say that he has no preference because music is a privilege. Property does not posses privilege. He wants to tell Jeremy that music is so beautiful, so genuine, that it could never exist as effortlessly in the Nest as it does in their dorm room or Jeremy’s car. He wants to tell Jeremy that his mother used to play Claire de Lune on the piano in their foyer and that she had taught him to play it too. He wants to tell Jeremy that his fingers, crooked and scarred, had not graced the soft keys of a piano in over a decade but he remembers every note like he remembers how to breathe. He wants to tell Jeremy that when he first arrived in America, he would hum himself to sleep until Riko carved the lilting notes right out of his chest, replaced the lightness in his ribs with dread. But property does not speak, nor does it had opinions or feelings. So Jean remains silent as they wind their way through campus with Coach Rhemann’s strict instructions of “Get Jean whatever the hell it is college boys need now a days. And grab me some Twizzlers!” Jean isn’t sure what a Twizzler is but he hopes it isn’t as painful in practice as it sounds in theory.

“Alright,” Jeremy says, pulling into a spot in the middle of the parking lot. “Target is basically the best store ever. I swear, every time I come in here, I spend way too much money in the dollar section.” Jean has no idea what would possess Jeremy to tell him that, as it has no bearing on their shopping objectives, but over the past few days in his company, Jean has learned better than to question the things that come out of Jeremy’s mouth. Jeremy seems to not abide by the rule of speaking less to avoid punishment. Jean absently wonders if Jeremy's punishments are handed out by Rhemann, or if it’s delegated to one of the assistant coaches. Jean is currently split 40/60 in favor of Rhemann, simply because that would enforce the power structure of the team. Coach, then assistant coaches, then captain, then players. It’s a firm structure, allows for every person to know their place. It was incredibly effective with the Ravens. Jean had been an anomaly on the team though, since his ownership was directly tied to Riko. He’d rather his ownership on this team to be to Jeremy rather than Rhemann, if only because Jeremy seems kinder. Though kindness is often a facade for cruelty. Jean knows that all too well.

Jean follows Jeremy into the store, eyes shifting over all of the people milling around the registers and produce section, and decides that if Rhemann had sent him alone, he would have had a nervous breakdown. He had spent years on edge in the Nest, always expecting Riko or the Master to be around the corner. He had known his threats there, knew how to prepare for their specific brand of violence. He does not, however, know anything about the other people in this store, Jeremy, Coach Rhemann, or any of the other Trojans that will flood back on campus next week to begins summer practices. Jean has never been fond of complacency but in hindsight, he thinks he would have preferred knowing what rules the Trojans, specifically Rhemann and Jeremy, adhere to. It unnerves him to be so ill-informed about personality dynamics on this team. Jean lets Jeremy take the lead, indicating no preference other than that anything they buy not be black (he cannot go back to the Nest. He cannot. Even if that means everything he now owns, including towels and t-shirts, are navy blue and olive green). Jeremy chatters along as he throws towels, toiletries, and various clothing items for Jean in their cart.

They’re in the candy isle when a voice shouts, “Hey! You’re Number 3!” from the opposite end.

And just like that, Jean is frozen in place, breath stuttering to a stop in his chest. There is a child in front of him-little girl, curly hair, purple glasses, not a threat, his rational mind supplies him- chattering about how much she loves watching the Trojans play the Ravens and how lucky he is to have been able to switch teams and isn’t it amazing how fast Riko is and nothing she says is making any sense because panic has replaced words and fear has replaced breathing and trembling hands have replaced cognitive thought.

“-ean. Jean.” Jeremy’s voices comes filtering into his brain as he begins to come back to himself. There is a warm hand on his elbow, guiding him to sit somewhere…down, he is sitting down on the floor.

“Jean, listen to me. It’s me, Jeremy, okay? I need you to breathe in and out with me.” But Jean can’t breathe because there are too many people and too much noise and too much talking and then everything is absolutely silent because Jeremy has his hands over Jean’s ears to block it all out. Startled, Jean opens his eyes and sees only Jeremy, who is breathing in and out in an exaggerated manner, indicating that Jean should copy him. And somehow, it’s not so difficult to make his lungs stutter in and out like they’re supposed to when the world consists only of Jeremy's hands over his ears and Jeremy's face in front of his own. They sit there for a few minutes or hours or years, breathing together. The world comes back in bits and pieces. First his hands, then the murmur of shoppers in the background, his breath calms beneath his ribs. Slowly, Jeremy brings his hands down from Jean’s ears, resting them instead upon Jean’s knees, thumb rubbing back and forth.

“How-“ Jean stutters, “How did you know..”

“My brother, actually.” Jeremy explains, looking Jean straight in the eye, nothing but genuine concern reflected there. “He came back from Iraq after two tours and sometimes, everything was too much. So we’d sit and breathe together until his brain brought him back to where he actually was instead of where it thought he was.”

Jean cannot fathom this boy, this bright, bright boy who has answers and laughter and music and light, so much light that it makes Jean feel like he’s thawing in the sun. Jeremy’s eyes are so intent in their concern that Jean finds he can no longer look into them, afraid that every barrier he’s ever built around his ability to speak will come tumbling down so instead, he turns his face downwards to stare at the thumb that’s caressing his leg through his jeans. Jeremy catches his line of sight and immediately tries to draw back.

“Sorry, Kenneth always said he needed a physical anchor. Habit, ya know?” Jeremy mutters, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Jean reaches out to stop Jeremy from pulling his hands away, encircles Jeremy’s wrist with his thumb and index finger. The pulse beneath Jean’s fingertips is steady and strong in a way that Jean’s has never been. It’s comforting to be so close to something so sturdy.

“Anchors,” Jean says, “Anchors, are necessary parts of ships, hm? One can never stray too far in the storm if there is something holding them steady.” 

“Very true Jean Moreau, very true.” Jeremy says with only a slight hesitation, a curious look passing over his face for an instant before being replaced with his usual lighthearted smile. He stands, pulling Jean up with him. They're halfway to the candy isle and an explanation about the superiority of Pull N Peel Twizzlers over original Twizzlers before Jean realized that his fingers are still clasped around Jeremy's wrist. For the first time, Jean thinks that maybe, whatever punishment and rules await him in the Trojan court might be worth it if it means the warmth of Jeremy’s pulse will continue on in the radius of Jean’s pain. Jeremy Knox does not demand to exist in Jean’s space; he is invited into it cautiously but warmly.

——

The rest of the team was due back on campus in six days. Jean is nothing if not honest with himself so when he is alone with his thoughts, he can admit that the thought of meeting twenty seven new people causes an anxiety so intense that he can scarcely breathe with it. The only thing that causes him to feel worse would be his impending reading lesson with Rhemann this afternoon. Jean wants to learn to read so badly that it physically aches. When Rhemann had offered, Jean had almost refused, certain the price would be too high. It had been three days since Rhemann’s offer and he hasn’t rescinded it yet. In fact, Rhemann had sent him a text to meet him at his office at noon. Everything in Jean wants to run. Everything in Jean wants to stay. In the end, he decides that whatever Rhemann demands in return for the words is worth it.

——

Jean expects a lot of things when he turns up to Rhemann’s office for his first lesson. What he does not expect to see is Rhemann reclining with his feet propped on his desk, casually flipping through a children’s book. “Jean!” Rhemann exclaims, bolting up in his chair. “Take a seat, take a seat.” he says, indicating the swivel chair in front of him. Jean schools his features into something resembling calm indifference and sits before Rhemann, ready to bargain his soul if it means learning to read the colorful books that rest just inches away from his hands on Rhemann’s desk.

“Alrighty, so I know this is probably a little non-traditional, but I figure the best way to learn to read is to fall in love with words first. But before we get to that, I just need a honest gauge of what you know already so we don’t waste time on stuff you’ve already got down pat.” Rhemann takes a pad of paper and pen out of the top drawer of his desk and looks up at Jean, with a smile. In that moment, the man reminds him of Jeremy. Jean wonders if all of the Trojans were grown in the sun, or if it’s something they all acquired after they joined the team.

“So I have a few questions. I know this is hard but just be as honest as you can, okay?

Jean nods.

“Do you know the alphabet?”

“Yes.” Jean replies, glad the first question isn’t something he had to get wrong. “I know the letters. I can write my name. I know all of my numbers.”

“Excellent! Alright, so that puts us way ahead. We can definitely start with these books then.” With that, Rhemann pulls out a colorful book and begins to read it to Jean, pointing at each words as he goes along. They spend an hour re-reading the story of how the green eggs and ham can be eaten in many different places and by the end, Jean can hesitantly recognize three words; eggs, ham, green. He clutches the knowledge close to his chest, burns the sight of the pages into his memory as Rhemann shuts the book. He has three more words than he did an hour ago and Jean feels lighter than he has in years because no matter what happens, no matter what price he has to pay or punishment he has to endure for learning, those three words are his.

“Good work Jean. You’re a quick study.” comments Rhemann. Jean stands to leave, but Rhemann stops him with a quick, “Jean, wait!” Jean turns to see Rhemann holding out a thin, maroon book. “I forgot, I got this for you!” Rheman exclaims, holding out a thin book.

Jean turns around, takes one look at the title, _Le Petite Prince_ , and decides that the price he has to pay for this is worth whatever it costs. He will pay it tenfold. He doesn’t care anymore. Because Rhemann has no idea what he has gifted Jean. French had been forbidden in the Nest. It was a language for the night, cloaked in whispered secrets. French only saw itself inserted in the dead of night between Jean and Kevin, or in Jean’s dreams. But it was not a language for the daylight. He had never told a soul that while he could not read English, he has known how to read in French since he was five. Jean finds his throat thick with emotion as he takes the slim volume from Rhemann. He opens the cover to see an elegantly curled script on the inside cover. He doesn’t have enough words to know what it says, as it’s scrawled in English, but Jean can tell that it was written with love. Something about the swell of the top of the letters as they connect together makes Jean certain that the pen had caressed the paper. The book is well worn, smells like it’s lived a thousand lives, and Jean has never felt so utterly bereft of control as he is in this moment.

“I figured that once we master reading English, we could move on to learning French. Put my dual degree to use, give you some comforts of home.” Jean blinks, ashamed to note that there’s wetness beneath his lashes. He has no words for this man. He has no words for this place. He has no words for what he’s feeling. He stares, wide eyed, at Rhemann before beating a hasty retreat out of the office. If he had spared a glance back, he would have seen Rhemann wearing a blinding smile, eyes glistening with unshed tears as well.

——

_“Jean, venez ici, come here love.” his maman calls. Their hallway is so bright, filled with the afternoon sun. Jean sprints towards the sitting room. He wants to reach his maman, wants to hear her lovely voice tell him about the little prince. His shoes trip up on the carpet that runs the length of the hallway. He catches himself with his palms down, scrambles up again, races towards her. But the more he runs, the longer the hallway becomes. He hears her calling him, “Venez ici, venez ici Jean!” “Je suis ici maman, here I am Maman!” he calls, running, running, running, running all the way back to the Nest, back to Riko, back to the bed with the ropes and the knives._

_“Oh little Jean, what will we do with you.” Riko taunts, running the blade up and down Jean’s chest. He feels the small rivulets of blood as they drip down, down, down, pooling in his belly button._

_He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to fight. Riko digs the knife deeper, deeper, until nothing matters but the space between his ribs and his next breath._

_“Let’s see if we can’t make the pretty French bird sing, hm?” Riko whispers, nipping at Jean’s ears as he slides a hand down, down, down past Jean’s hip bones._

_“Please, don’t.” Jean begs, as the hand slides further, further, further. To places that hurt and ache and feel good even when Jean doesn’t want them to. But please does not make Riko stop, nor do tears. Jean cries anyways._

\----

He shoots awake, gasping. The sheets are tangled around his body, cutting off circulation. There’s not enough air, not enough distance between where he was and where he is and he can't _breathe_. He fumbles for the bedside lamp. He flicks it on, gasping for air. Their dorm rooms comes back into his vision. Blue walls, not black. Jeremy's bulletin board filled with team pictures. Two desks, two beds, two dressers, no Riko. His sheets are green and not stained with blood. 

“Jean?” comes Jeremy’s tentative voice from across the dorm. Jean shudders, cannot stand the sound of his own name. His stomach churns, acid burning in the back of his throat. He hears Jeremy move across the room, feels the end of his bed dip, yet cannot bring himself to look up. If he looks up, he will see Jeremy’s blue, blue eyes filled with concern. So much concern that it makes Jean's skin crawl to think about because he doesn't deserve it.

“Jean?” Jeremy questions, a hand stretched across the sheets, not quite touching Jean’s own where it lays splayed and shaking by his side. “What can I do?”

And that, that is the very last thing Jean expects Jeremy to say.

Perhaps it is the shock of being asked what can be done _for_ him as opposed to everything simply being taken _from_ him that compels Jean to blurt out, “Riko stole the words before I even had a chance to have them.” Jeremy doesn’t say anything, so Jean continues on, afraid that if he stops talking, his courage with wither in to the night and never come back.

“I can’t read. I can’t read English. Rhemann is teaching me and he gave me this book in French because I can read French. But I’ve never told anyone that so that so I hid the book under my pillow because I didn’t want you to take the words away like Riko did. But your rules don’t make any sense because there aren’t any but there has to be. There has to be rules and I wish you would just tell me what you want from me already!”

It spills out of him like bile. Guilt and shame and hatred. So much hatred. For himself for being weak and Riko for being cruel and Rhemann for dangling words and not telling him what he has to barter to keep them and Jeremy for being filled with light that Jean will never be able to touch. He’s so angry. Angry that he can’t shut his mouth, that the Nest still lies so close to the surface, that Jeremy listens to everything he says and doesn’t hit him and why doesn’t he just hit him or hold him down or take, take, take. Nothing makes sense in this place.

“Jean, will you look at me please?” Jeremy asks, softly yet commanding. It takes every ounce of courage for Jean to raise his eyes to glance at Jeremy’s face and the compassion he finds there breaks him.

He is beyond anger, beyond rage.

“Can you just NOT with your fucking fake concern and whimsical laughter and just stop, STOP because I legitimately cannot handle this dream you’ve built up for me here because none of this is real and I just…I can’t be here right now.” And before he can even process Jeremy’s stuttering, Jean is on the street outside of the dorms and running. Past the dorms, past the streetlights, past the shadows that linger at the edges of his vision. He runs until the only pain he feels is the burn in his chest and the throbbing in his calves.

When he returns, the dorm is empty. _Le Petite Prince_ is still hiding beneath his pillow. Next to the slim volume rests two novels, both brand new and written in French. A note, written in both French and English, lies next to them.

_Jean,_

_Les mots appartiendront à toi, toujours._

_The words will always belong to you._

_Jeremy_
    
    
      
    
      
    
      
    
    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have this headcanon that even though Jean has been to away games, he's never really experienced things like the wonders of the dollar section at Target or pulling Twizzlers apart to make funny shapes. Cue the Trojans showing Jean all of these little things that makes life so wonderful, like Twizzlers, Target, movie nights, hopscotch, petting dogs. 
> 
> All mistakes in French are my own. Google translate only does what I ask it to do. 
> 
> Side note, if anyone feels like editing these chapters for me, let me know, por favor.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean has a new book and a past.

“The Giving Tree is a classic kid, trust me.” Rhemann says, pushing the book into Jeans hands and telling him to go do something fun. Jean isn’t sure what Rhemann means but fifteen minutes later, he finds himself curled over the book in the shade of the biggest oak tree on campus.

——

_ Once there was a tree and she loved a little boy.  _

_ And every day the boy would come and he would gather her leaves and make them into crowns and play king of the forest.  _

_ He would climb up her trunk and swing from her branches  _

_ And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade. _

_ And the boy loved the tree very much _

_ And the tree was happy.  _

——

Maman teaches him to swim in the ocean. He likes how the waves roar like the tigers at the zoo. He keeps the small shells they find on his dresser at home. Maman says that the ocean is fickle, like life. That it will pull you under and keep you there if you aren’t careful. Jean doesn’t like the thought of being stuck under the water that long because then he wouldn’t be able to see the sky. Maman laughs when he tells her that, brushes his shaggy hair off of his forehead to place a kiss there. 

“Oh my little bird, my Jean, eyes always to the sky.” she says. 

He loves when she calls him that. It makes him think of what it would be like to fly, to touch the clouds with his wings, to sing as he passes over all of the oceans. He loves the thought. He loves her. And he is happy.

——

_ But time went by and and the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone.  _

_ Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, “Come, Boy, and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy. _

_ “I am too big to climb and play” said the boy. “I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money.” _

_ “I’m sorry,” said the tree, “but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy. _

_ And so the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away. _

_ And the tree was happy.  _

——

Maman spends a lot of time in Father’s office now. Jean hears raised voices and slamming doors and shattered glass. When Maman comes to tuck him in, her face is purple and red, deep swirls of colors like when he forget to put the caps on his markers and the ink mixes together on the paper before drying out. He tell her that markers are for paper, not for faces. But she does not smile. She simply strokes the hair from his face and tucks his blanket around him tight, tight, tight. She curls up next to him, holds him close and safe, and he is happy.

——

“It is a business transaction. You knew this when he was born. Do not pretend otherwise.”

“He is a child. Please, do not do this, I'm begging you.”

“He is a debt. One that will be paid.”

——

“ _Mon Amour_ , come here.” Maman says, holding her arms out to Jean. She smells sweet, like theperfume Father had presented her with for her birthday last week. He goes to her, hugs her tight around the waist. She leans forward, her hair a curtain between them and the world, and kisses his cheek. The spot is warm after she pulls away.

“We have a guest today, come and meet him.” she says, leading Jean by the hand into the living room. The man scares him, with his cold eyes and his dark suit. He says a lot of things about debts and duty and the way the words fall from his tongue make Jean clutch Maman’s hand tighter. She rubs her thumb across the back of his, smiles down at him when the man reaches into his bag to grab a tiny book and a folded piece of paper. The little book has Jean’s name and picture on it and so does the slip of paper. It’s written in English but Jean had seen Father’s plane ticket once. He wonders if Maman’s ticket is in the man’s bag too.

“Jean, my love, Mr. Moriyama is going to take you with him on a long trip to a new place.”

He immediately recoils from her. 

“No! I don’t want to go!” he shouts, lips quivering. He grabs her hand with both of his own. He doesn’t understand why she’s sending him away. He wants to stay with her and go to the beach and look at the birds in the sky and have her call him her pretty bird. He doesn’t understand.

She bends down and cups his face in her hands. Looking him steadily in the eye, she says “I would very much like for you to go with Mr. Moriyama. He’s going to take you to a new school. Now, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Jean nods. “I like school.” he whispers.

“I know you do. Now make me very proud and study very hard.” she says, standing once more. Mr. Moriyama takes the little book and ticket off of the table and nods for Jean to follow him. When they get to the door, Jean looks back at his mother. She is smiling at him, lips shaking and eyes bright. He smiles back at her, waves a hand in farewell. She blows him a kiss. 

He loves her very much. When she is happy, he is happy.

——

_ But the boy stayed away for a long time and the tree was sad. _

_ And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy and she said, "Come, Boy, climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy." _

_ "I am too busy to climb trees," said the boy. "I want a house to keep me warm," he said. _

_ "I want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house ?" _

_ "I have no house," said the tree. "The forest is my house, but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy." _

_ And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build his house. And the tree was happy. _

——

His new school is not a school. It is a room with a bed and a table and a toilet. It has no window and one door that locks from the outside instead of the inside. There is no lamp and all the time is like night time. A scary man brings him food two times a day but he never speaks. The scary man keeps him there for a long, long time. Days and days and days. Jean cries and cries and cries, but Maman never comes. He wants to hear the ocean roar like a tiger. He wants Maman to tuck the blanket tight, tight, tight around him so he feels safe. He wants to hear her laugh and call him pretty bird and tell him the names of all of the stars they can see and call out the shapes of the clouds. He wants to go home. 

——

One day, another little boy with dark, dark hair comes into his room and says _come with me_. And Jean is so happy to be out of the dark room that he tries to hug the little boy for rescuing him. 

The boy hits him across the face, hard. _Property does not touch_ , he snarls, before turning to head down a long, dark hallway. Jean follows, too stunned to understand. 

——

_ But the boy stayed away for a long time. _

_ And when he came back, the tree was so happy, she could hardly speak. _

_ "Come, Boy," she whispered, "come and play." _

_ "I am too old and sad to play,” said the boy. "I want a boat that will _

_ take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?” _

_ "Cut down my trunk and make a boat," said the tree. "Then you can sail away and be happy." _

_ And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away. _

_ And the tree was happy. _

_ But not really.  _

——

The boy, Riko, gives him a racquet and tells him to stop the balls from passing into the goal. He fails and fails and fails. Riko hits him, and hits him, and hits him. He fails some more, every day. 

Until one day he succeeds.  Riko still hits him. 

_Faster_ , Riko says. So Jean goes faster.

Stronger, Riko says. So Jean gets stronger. 

_Better_ , Riko says. So Jean is better. 

And it is all the same, year after year, until one day Jean looks down and sees hair on his body in places there wasn’t before, notices that he’s almost taller than Riko, hears his voice get deeper. His body is always bruised and bleeding but he’s the best  backliner in the country and Jean is happy. 

E xcept not really. 

——

Another boy comes to the court. 

Kevin is fast and strong and scared, just like Jean. Kevin learns French quickly, quietly, and Jean trusts him not to betray their secrets. Sometimes, when they are alone together, they laugh and it sounds light, like the clouds with the long names and the constellations with the brightest stars.

Sometimes, Riko makes Kevin leave the room so he can climb into bed with Jean. It hurts and it feels good and it is it confusing and scary. Jean says no but Riko keeps taking and taking and taking until Jean has nothing left to give but his compliance. Kevin looks sad when he comes back to the room on those night. Sometimes, he tucks the blanket tight, tight, tight around Jean and holds his hand while Jean shakes apart. 

——

Riko dubs them 1, 2, 3 and Jean is happy. 

Except not really. 

——

_ And after a long time, the boy came back again. _

_ "I am sorry, Boy,” said the tree," but I have nothing _

_ left to give you. My apples are gone." _

_ "My teeth are too weak for apples," said the boy. _

_ "My branches are gone,"said the tree. “You cannot swing on them - " _

_ "I am too old to swing on branches," said the boy. _

_ "My trunk is gone, " said the tree."You cannot climb - " _

_ "I am too tired to climb" said the boy. _

_ "I am sorry," sighed the tree. "I wish that I could give you something....but I have nothing left.  _ _ I am just an old stump. I am sorry.” _

——

Riko breaks Kevin's hand and Kevin leaves. Jean stays and Riko comes to his room at night and takes, and takes, and takes. But then Moriyama dies and Jean knows he is going to die in this place. He thinks of tiger oceans and Maman’s laughter and blue, blue skies. He thinks of rainbow hair and a silver cross and a pink sweater. He picks up his phone and lets his bloodied fingers do the rest. 

——

_ "I don't need very much now," said the boy. _

_ "just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.” _

——

Renee walks into the Nest with the fierceness of an avenging angel. As his vision fades to black, he thinks that her voice sounds just as strong as the ocean’s roar, even if it is much softer.

——

_ "Well," said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, _ _ "Well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.” _

                                                                                                ——

The debt is paid. 

Jean is tired.

He is so, so tired. Too tired to make it to California. 

But he boards his flight anyways because he has nowhere else to go. 

                                                                                                ——

_ And the boy did. _

_ And the tree was happy. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Shel Silverstein for "The Giving Tree" 
> 
> Next chapter, the whole team is back in town. :)


	5. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is no handbook for survival.

_The park is always so bright when Maman takes him to feed the ducks. She holds his hand as they cross the bike path and head down to the lake. Her palm is warm, like the sun, and he feels safe. They scatter seeds and bread across the water, laughing as the ducks fight each other. Jean loves the way the water ripples when he tosses the seeds across. They stretch on for what seems like forever, like they’ll just keep going until they reach the sunset. Every afternoon they walk to the park and every evening, they head home to the distant sound of the bells of Notre Dame._

_——_

Sometimes, Jean wakes up and forgets that his body is his own. He forgets that the numb place inside of his chest is where his heart lives. He forgets that his tongue exists to speak, his hands exist to hold a racquet, and his eyes exist to see other colors besides black. He forgets that USC is not Edgar Allen. He forgets that no one here has hurt him. He forgets that just because he hasn’t been hit yet, doesn’t mean that he is safe. 

So instead of forgetting, he runs. 

He runs from Jeremy’s smile. Runs from Riko’s hands. Runs from Rhemann’s words and Maman’s memory and the brusies that still litter his torso. He runs from the overwhelming struggle of wanting to be alone but being conditioned to never go anywhere without his partner. He runs from the reality that he no longer has a partner. He runs from the team returning tomorrow morning and the hate he feels for the fear that lives in his gut.

He runs and runs and runs. 

He runs until he reaches the church. 

The church is another one of his secrets. So many secrets. Secret upon secret upon secret that he is so very tired of carrying but has no idea how or where to set them down. Most of his secrets make him feel dirty, as though he needs to spend every day for the rest of his life under scalding water until the half truths and the blatant lies are washed away. He needs to strip himself of everything he is just to become whatever it is his new team, his new life, demands him to be. He wishes he were nothing so that maybe he would be able to feel something. 

——

 

_“Maman, do ducks feel sad when we don’t bring them bread?” Jean asks curiously, tossing bread into the pond and watching the swarm of birds fight each other over the hunks of rapidly soaking wheat. They didn’t come to the park yesterday because Maman and Father were fighting. Jean isn’t supposed to know that they were fighting but sometimes their voices are loud through the walls of his room. Jean had wanted to ask Maman to go to the park when she came out of Father’s office, but she didn’t come to let him out of his room for a long, long time. Such a long time that when she does finally open the door, the night sky was out and Jean was tired. Maman had tucked him in and brushed the hair back from his face and told him that she loved him more than anything in the world. Jean knows its true because Maman never lies._

 

_“Just because ducks are not human, does not mean that they do not feel. We all feel, all things that hold life feel.” Maman replies, eyes gazing out over the water._

 

_“But Maman, how do we know what life feels like?” Jean questions in a way only a five year would be able._

 

_“Life will feel like a million things at once, mon amour. Love and loss and pain. But life is sacred and we must take care to love it, even when it does not love us back.” Maman replies, shading her eyes from the setting sun. Her long, dark hair is tied loosely at the nape of her neck. The swirl of her scarf hides more colored marks around her throat. Jean isn’t supposed to know about the black and blue fingers on her neck, just like he isn’t supposed to know about the fighting._

_“But I love you Maman!” Jean exclaims, hugging her legs tight, tight, tight._

_“And I love you, my little bird.” Maman replies._

_——_

The crumbling brick church gives him something steady to hold onto. An anchor, like Jeremy’s hand on his knee. Except not like Jeremy because the church does not own him, can’t hurt him the way that Jeremy’s hands eventually will.The door creaks as he pushes it open. It’s small and warm on the inside and Jean immediately feels safe. Sunlight trickles through the stained glass windows, making the stone floor dance with colors. A large, wooden crucifix hangs above the alter and Jean takes in the pierced state of Jesus’ side, the nails in his feet and hands. He wonders how it is that Jesus had been brave enough to stay when the blood began to run when Jean had only ever wanted to run. He walks closer to the alter, finding comfort in the echo of his running shoes and the smell of incense that lingers in the air. Genuflecting, he takes a seat in one of the pews. The bench is solid beneath him. Stable. Unwavering. Jean leans forward to rest his forehead against the pew in front of him, closing his eyes, and bringing his hands to rest on top of his sweaty hair. He is so very tired. 

——

_“I don’t want to go to church, Maman!” Jean screams, stomping his bare feet on the kitchen tile. Maman stands in front of him, arms crossed, with a frown on her face. “Sunday service is non-negotiable Jean.”she says, her voice like steal. “Go put your dress shoes on.”_

_Jean stomps up the stairs to his room and angrily shoves his dress shoes on his feet. He hates going to church. He hates the smell of the incense sticks. He hates sitting on the hard, wooden pew for an hour. He hates the scary crucifix behind the alter. He hates the sit, stand, kneel. He hates shaking hands with strangers and the hates he way the priest talks for a long, long time before handing out Communion._

_But mostly, he hates how Maman cries after every Mass._

_Still, every Sunday Maman drags Jean to the halls of Notre Dame and makes him sit through Mass with her. They go to the park afterwards and feed the ducks and Jean pretends like he can’t see the tears that drip down Maman’s face into the water._

_——_

In the two weeks that Jean has been running to the church, he has never felt inclined to enter the confessional booth. But something about today is different. Perhaps it is his weariness or his pain or his exhaustion. Maybe it’s the sanctity of confession itself, that the Father must sit through hundreds of confessions worse than his own. Or maybe it’s that Jean is so tired of running. So tired of being tired. Whatever it is, he finds himself rising from the pew and striding to the confessional. Once Jean is seated, the priest opens the wooden slat that separates him them. There is nothing in the booth but the sound of their breathing and the judgement of God. 

 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…was a very long time ago.”

——

 

_Jean doesn’t like it when Maman goes to confession. He has to sit in the pews while she does and he hates the old people that try to talk to him while they wait their turn with the priest. Maman never tells him what she tells the priest. She only ever tells him that one day, he’ll find comfort in forgiveness. She tells him that he is too young to understand but one day, he will. Jean thinks that maybe God needs to forgive him for stepping on MonsieurJohn’s flowers last week but Maman hasn’t ever stepped on flowers before so Jean doesn’t understand what God needs to forgive her for._

_Sometimes, Jean prays while he waits because his Sunday school teacher says God is your friend and you can tell him anything and pray about important things. So he prays for a new dog and a friend when he starts school. He tells God about his day and hopes God is having a good day too. He prays that God will make Maman’s bruises go away. Jean prays that him and Maman can go far, far away from Father’s angry voice. So sometimes Jean prays and sometimes he doesn’t. But prayer or not, Maman always comes out of confession looking happier so maybe when he’s older, he’ll try confession too._

——

The words come tumbling out of his mouth into the air between them. The loneliness and confusion of his new life land on the stone floor. The shame of Riko’s hands on his body trickle to rest on his lap. The grief of losing his life, no matter how cruel it had been, sits heavily on his shaking palm. The fear of this new team, of being hurt _again_ , makes its way to the vaulted ceiling. The longing to go to Rhemann and beg him to keep Jean safe, to not hurt him, to love whatever little piece of Jean left that’s worth loving scatters itself between the pages of the hymnal. Rage at the injustice of having to live when he had worked so long, so hard to come to peace with his inevitable death drops like bricks upon the confessional bench. The dichotomy of wanting to run from Jeremy but beg him to keep Jean safe sticks to wooden walls of the confessional booth. The weight of Maman’s memory creaks out onto the door hinges. When the words run dry, the booth is silent but for his heavy gasps of breath. 

——

_One day, instead of going to the park, Maman makes Jean pack all of his clothes and toys in a bag. She tells him not to ask questions and to do as she says. That confuses Jean because Maman always says ‘Jean, question the world and discover new things.’ He doesn’t understand what’s happening but he trusts her. His bag is packed and Maman’s bag is packed too. They catch a taxi and ride for a long, long time. Maman holds his hand and hums under her breath as Jean watches the streets pass by in a wash of colors. The taxi stops by the water and Jean recognizes it as the place where all of the ferry boats live. Maman once told him that if you were a really, really good swimmer, you could swim all the way to England from here. But when they get out, Maman doesn’t move. Instead, they’re suddenly surrounded by people that work for Father. They all have the same grey suits and angry faces. Jean doesn’t like them much but he knows that Father hires them to keep him and Maman safe. The men and Maman exchange angry words in English, words that Jean can’t understand. When they’re done talking, Maman puts him back into the cab. It takes them a long, long time to get home. When they do, Maman makes Jean go to his room. He hears Father yelling in his office, hears the door slam and glass break. He hears Maman cry out. Then, silence._

_It’s quiet for a long, long time._

_That night, Maman lies down next to him in bed and holds him close to her chest. She cries and cries and cries. In the morning, the scary man in the black suit takes Jean to his new school._

——

“The world has treated you cruelly and yet, you are not cruel.” the Father says, softly, kindly.

This is not what Jean wants to hear. He came to confession to be punished, not forgiven. 

“Padre, what must I do to atone for my sins?” he begs, aching for someone, anyone, to tell him how to wash the filth from his soul. 

The priest is quiet for a moment before replying. 

“Atonement is sought for sins. It is for the things that we consciously choose to act upon, despite the warnings of the Gospel against things such as greed, anger, gluttony. Atonement is not something that must be sought for being human, for experience grief, pain, and violence at the hands of another. You do not need atonement from the Lord. You haven’t done anything wrong. You need only to forgive yourself for the crimes that were leveled against your person.”

Something clenches in the space between Jean’s ribs.

“But Padre, I…I let those things happen to me. I just…

“You are not responsible for the cruelty of others.” the Father interrupts, voice firm and commanding. “There is nothing for me to absolve you from because you have done nothing wrong. But I will leave you with a verse. Ephesians 4:31.”

Jean sighs, frustrated at the not-answer. This is not what he came here for. He came here to be punished. He came here to be told that God sees the wickedness in his soul. He came here to be told that the wickedness can be washed away if he prays enough rosaries. He didn’t come here to be told that it’s not his fault. It was his fault. 

“Thank you Padre.” he mutters disappointedly before slipping out of the booth and making his way back out into the world.

——

Later, when Jeremy is asleep, Jean pulls a weathered French translation bible from his backpack and flips through to Ephesians. His throat feels thick as he skims the verse. 

 

> _ “Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands so that he may have something to share with anyone in need. Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouth, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." _

 

Jean weeps and he weeps and he weeps, until there is nothing left in his heart but emptiness. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Turns out that vacation and final exams completely ruin any chance of free time!


	6. Two Lesbians and a Panic Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alvarez and Dermott return to campus.

The day before the seven other players that comprise the Trojan starting line are set to return to campus, two girls burst into the dorm room and Jean loses ten years off of his life. 

 

“Jeremy, you sly son of a bitch, you didn’t tell me you were hiding the most talented backliner in the country in you dorm room!” bellows the tall, dark skinned woman. Her curly hair is tied up in a high pony tail by a series of colored bands. It whips back and forth as she speaks, her right hand gesticulating wildly. The other hand is intertwined with that of the other girl, who remains silent but for her a smile. It’s warm, like the tone of her skin, and Jean feels his eyes drawn to it. He knows that he should speak since she’s looking at him and Jeremy is in the bathroom showering. He should introduce himself, even though they already know who he is. He should make polite conversation. He should tell her that he likes the patches she had sewn on her jacket but he can’t bring himself to talk. He’s saved from his inability by Jeremy, who comes bounding out of the bedroom, shirtless and still damp from his shower. Jean resolutely does not let his gaze follow Jeremy’s progress across the room. 

 

“Alvarez, god, you’re such a freak!” Jeremy laughs, pulling each girl into a hug. Jean watches the way that Jeremy’s hands splay over their backs, one near the shoulder and the other near the spine, as he holds them to his chest. His height makes his back hunch as he hugs them, face bowed down to rest in the space between their necks and shoulders. The intimacy makes something in Jean’s chest pang and he isn’t sure who he envies more, Jeremy or the girls. 

 

“God Jer, go dry you hair, you’re getting water all over me!” Alvarez complains. Jeremy shakes his head like a dog, spraying the shrieking girls with water, before dodging under Dermott’s reach with a laugh as he sprints back to the bedroom. The girls both settle on the couch opposite Jean. He draws his knees closer to his chest, rests his chin on them, and swallows. 

They’re both staring at him like they don’t quite know what to say and it’s making him nervous. The Ravens used to stare at him in the Nest. They were never allowed to touch what belonged to Riko without express permission, but he could aways tell that they wanted to. Staring make shim want to crawl out of his skin so he remains silent, waiting either player to clue him in to their intentions. 

It’s Dermott, with her soft smile, that breaks the silence.

“We’re glad you’re here Jean.” she says, taking Alvarez’s hand in her hers and settling them in her lap. She smiles at him, waiting for him to speak. He doesn’t. But once more, he’s saved by the return of Jeremy, who is now fully clothed. He flops down on the same couch as the girls, leaving a cushion between them, resting his crossed legs upon the coffee table. 

“So my favorite lesbians, how was your summer?” Jeremy questions in that light and playful tone that sometimes makes Jean’s ribs feel too tight around his lungs. With that, the girls launch into the story of their summer adventures in Canada and Jean sits back to observe the three.

They banter back and forth as Jean watches, almost memorized by the easy companionship between the three players. It’s clear that the girls aren’t Jeremy’s property or vice versa. It unnerves Jean to bear witness to genuine friendship. Jean had always been an outsider in the Nest. He had known his place, even if he had hated it. The other Ravens had respected his ability on the court but never his autonomy once he stepped off of it. The Ravens didn’t have friends, they had teammates. They didn’t socialize; they built shallows bonds in order to sustain communication on the court. They didn’t care about each other’s summers or families or well beings; they cared about scores and lap times and national rankings. 

But if these three are any indication, the Trojans are completely different. Sitting on the couch opposite these bright people makes Jean long for things he knows he cannot have. When Alvarez throws her feet up on Jeremy’s lap, Jeremy’s hands immediately rise to rest on her calves. When Dermott regales them with tales of their Canadian adventures, Jeremy and Alvarez laugh along with her. When Alvarez looks at the two people beside her on the couch, she does so with such a tenderness that it steals Jean’s breath. Everything in this room is soft and bright and kind. They are people and he wants so badly to be a person too. To be soft and kind and unbroken. He wants to be Twizzlers and movie nights, Candian adventures and hands on calves, hugs that are tender and last too long. He wants so badly to be like them and suddenly, the room begins to feel too small, too constricted, and he knows that he needs to leave or he’s going to either start sobbing or screaming or both. He stands abruptly from the couch, startling the other occupants of the room. 

 

“Pardon, but I think I must go for a run now.” he says, knowing that he’s speaking in French but unable to repeat himself in the correct language. He isn’t quite able to miss the look of concern on Jeremy’s face as he makes his way out the door. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he reaches the glass elevator and sees that the sky is still there, blue and bright and safe. 

——

 

“So,” Alvarez begins, turning to Jeremy, “that was incredibly awkward.”

”Jean is…he’s struggling to adjust.” Jeremy says, fists clenching, open and closed, in his lap. Struggling would be an understatement. He’s only spent a week with Jean and already he feels over his head. When Jeremy had arrived back on campus for the summer, Coach had pulled him aside and cautioned him to give Jean his space, to let Jean come to them first, and to not push the boundaries that Jean had set. Jeremy hadn’t understood until he called Kevin.

He wishes he hadn’t. 

The thought of those things happening to Jean made Jeremy sick to his stomach. The fact that Jeremy might have been fooled into thinking Jean was okay had Coach and the bruises on Jean’s face said otherwise, made Jeremy’s heart ache. With the exception of the panic attack at Target, Jean had gone out of his way to conceal any type of difficulty from Jeremy. But Jeremy had heard his harsh breathing late at night, had seen him abruptly stop what he’s doing to rush outside and run for hours at a time. Jean never ate breakfast, nor did he ever eat before Jeremy had eaten, even when they were served food at the same time. Jean only answered direct questions and never looked him in the eyes. Yesterday he had asked Jean if he wanted the last bowl of Fruity Pebbles and Jean had politely replied _no thank you, breakfast is not allowed_ , before turning his attention back to folding his laundry. As if not being allowed breakfast was normal. As if any of the things Jean came carrying to USC were normal. 

 

“Jer, I think struggling might be the understatement of the year. The kid looks like he’s going to sob or scream or bolt at all times and we’ve only been here for an hour.” Alvarez chimes in. 

“I know, I know. But it’s only been a week so maybe it’ll get better?” questions Jeremy. 

“I fucking hope so.” replies Alvarez. Her tone is harsh but Jeremy has known her long enough to recognize the worried crinkles at the corner of her eyes. 

“He’s going to be okay.” Laila says, in the same steady voice that has brought Jeremy out of many an anxiety attack since he started at USC. He hopes that she’s right. Jean is amazing, both on the court and off. Jean might have spent the last week observing Jeremy, but Jeremy had spent the week watching Jean too. He saw the way the bruises on his ribs scattered up the right side of his body, making Jean lean to the left when sitting down. He knew that Jean still kept all three books under his pillow. He knew that Jean had a preference for blueberries in his oatmeal instead of Jeremy’s preferred strawberries. He also knew that Jean would never admit that so Jeremy just set them next to Jean’s plate anytime they ate oatmeal for lunch. He knew that Jean liked to hum under his breath when he thought no one was around. He knew that Jean left a bowl of water and leftovers outside every night for the stray dog that roamed around the sports complex. He knew that Jean, for all his baggage, was a good person. But he also knew that no amount of reassurance on Jeremy’s end was going to convince Jean of that. He bet the Ravens had promised Jean all sorts of things and never followed through. 

No, no words wouldn’t do in this case. So really, the only solution was action and follow through. 

The only question as how. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days because I abandoned you all for like three weeks. Next chapter we'll meet the rest of the team and Jean gets to have a recovery altering experience on the Court ;)


	7. Scrimmage Me This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team returns and Jean learns that honesty might, sometimes, maybe be the best policy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals briefly with rape. Please proceed with caution, accordingly.

The new and improved starting line for the USC Trojans looks something like this; Jeremy Knox, Jean Moreau, Sarah Alvarez, Laila Dermott, Galaxy Reyes, Penny Alexander, and Lily Wilkins. The team had been surprising collected when Jean appeared in the locker room that morning. There were no intrusive questions or lingering stares. They had all introduced themselves, telling him how excited they were to have him, and that had been that. They had run drills on the court and settled in for a scrimmage like Jean had always been apart of their team. 

 

Now, they’ve all taken their positions on the court. Jeremy and Reyes are up the center, waiting for Alexander to deal out. Jean hangs back by Dermott’s goal, letting Alvarez pace back and forth waiting for the deal that will send the strikers hurtling towards them.Wilkins is sitting on the bench, waiting to sub out after a few plays. There’s a boundless energy crackling through the air as they wait for the deal. Objectively, USC’s team is one of the best in the country. Jean knows this. He knows their stats, names, weaknesses, and strengths. He has checked them into walls during play, insulted them behind their backs in the Nest, and spent the past two weeks obsessing over their response to him existing on their court. But despite all of that, Jean is ready to be part of this team, even if it means that they own him. 

He has played _against_ them all before but there’s something akin to excitement running under his skin in getting to play _with_ them. He knows that he’s the best backliner in Class I Exy. He knows that his footwork and stamina are on par with the US Court, that his skill can’t be matched by the other players standing next to him. But they’re a challenge. A challenge on the court is the only kind thatJean had ever been allowed to win and he lets himself feel the thrill of it. Nothing in his life makes sense right now, but playing Exy is in his blood. He could be bleeding out and still defend this goal, no matter who his teammates are. But he thinks he might like his new ones. 

The weight of his racket centers him. He feels his breathing settle in his core as the ball strikes the wall, propelling the team into motion. Jeremy makes his way towards the goal, cradling the ball in his net. He takes ten steps and ricochets the ball off the wall and into Reyes’ net. Jean moves forward, light on his feet, and checks the ball before Reyes can get anywhere near Alvarez. Reyes lets the ball go with a laugh before scooping it back up and running back to center court. Jean watches his slight frame retreat up the field. Reyes is small, only 5’4, but he commands the court like he owns it. That’s a quality Jean can appreciate.

They scrimmage for an hour, running hard and fast, getting used to their downsized line. Jean finds them to be exceptional in their play, though significantly kinder than the Ravens ever were. They laugh off checks, pat shoulders when goals are made, and shout across the court at one another. 

_You run like a drunken baby Jer!_

_Fuck you, Galaxy, you tiny midget!_

_Alexander are you gonna pass the ball or make love to it?_

_Sick block, Moreau!_

It’s…astounding. They play like they smile; light and soft. There is no hesitation to be powerful on the court but the power doesn’t have the undercurrent of cruelty that he’s used to. Everything about their play is different than Edgar Allen and yet, they are no less effective.

 

It’s an hour into the scrimmage and Jean is having fun. Everything from pounding of the ball against the walls to Alvarez’s encouragement when Jean blocks yet another goal spurs him on. He remembers how much he loves this game. Exhilaration pounds through his blood stream as he twists to block Jeremy again. His shoulder tingles in the place where Jeremy claps it after the block and Jean doesn’t flinch. He files that lack of reaction away in the back of his mind to think about later because right now, there’s a goal to defend. 

Jeremy and Reyes are passing the ball up the court now, shouting at each other as they run. Jean lowers himself into a defensive position, spinning his racket between his gloved hands, waiting. His center of gravity shifts to his core as he anticipates the motion of the ball. Reyes is five feet away from Jean when Jeremy tosses him the ball, harder than he should have to make such a short distance pass. Several things happen in quick succession. Reyes leaps into the air, racket extended to catch the ball as Jean moves forward to block its inception. The ball lands in Reyes’ racket but the momentum knocks him off balance as he lands and he tumbles into Jean, who is toppled over with such force that he crashes into the pelixglass wall, hip first, and lands gracelessly on the floor. The air rushes out of his lungs, hard, and it takes him a second to get his breathing under control as pain flairs up his hip bones and pelvis. He feel disoriented but knows that he has to get off the floor so he can keep playing. He knows that his ownership depends upon his ability to defend the goal so he graciously accepts Reyes’ help up off the floor. Reyes laughs out an apology, shouts over to Jeremy to stop trying to defy the laws of physics, before running back up the court. Jean tries not to limp but he can feel Jeremy’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head as he calls an end to practice. Jean does his best to conceal his grimace as he makes his way back to the locker room. He showers and heads back to the dorm before Jeremy has a chance to catch up to him. 

 

_——_

 

_Jean has lost too much blood by the time Riko yanks him roughly onto his stomach. It’s just like every other time Riko’s done this expect now, Jean knows that he isn’t going to leave this room. Jean cries out as his legs are pried apart at an unnatural angle, distantly hears a pop as something dislocates. Pain radiates from his hips and his pelvis. He’s too out of it to resist, too dizzy to do anything more than sob at the pain of Riko’s entry. It goes on and on and on until Jean feels Riko stiffen, feels himself leaking as Riko pulls out. Weight shifts off Jean’s broken body as Riko lifts himself off and comes back with his knife again. Jean can’t find the words to beg or plead. He just whimpers as the cool steel runs down the length of his trembling thigh. He shuts his eyes and thinks of the sky; big and blue and safe. He thinks of the ocean; boundless blue waves. He thinks that if heaven did exist, he’d want it to look just like that. Untouched and unending._

_—_

 

Jean gasps awake.

He glances over to see Jeremy still asleep under the mound of blankets on his bed, one foot hanging off the end of the bed. Jean runs a trembling hand over his sweaty face and tries to take a steadying breath. The rooms spins a little as he reorients himself to reality. He takes stock of his body. 

His hips ache.

When Renee had taken him from Edgar Allen and situated him in Abby’s home to recover, he had been too ashamed to tell them of Riko’s assault. Abby had already spent hours stitching him together. he couldn’t look her in the face and tell her what he had let Riko do. It hadn’t really been a problem while he was recuperating. He could barely leave his bed so explanations about his aversion to sitting didn’t crop up. The bruising on his torso was so overwhelming that Abby hadn’t questioned where it had come from. When he could finally stand on his own, he had taken the longest shower he could manage and resigned himself to letting the damage heal on its own. And it had, for the most part. He had been doing okay but being checked into the wall during practice had clearly shifted something that shouldn’t have been shifted. He knows his body and he knows his limits and there’s something wrong. Because his hips burn, radiating up to his pelvis and around his lower back. But the team is back on campus and Jean can’t be benched so he hauls himself into an upright position and immediately regrets it. Pain flares up the lower half of his body and the room spins dangerously. He must make a sound of discomfort because the next thing he sees is Jeremy, sleep tousled, in his field of vision. 

 

“Jean, are you alright?” he asks. Jean forces himself to focus, to remain upright. He’s fine. He can get up. He can still play.

“I’m fine. I just sat up too quickly.” he replies, proud of the fact that his voice barely quivers as he speaks. Jeremy looks skeptical but decides to leave it alone. He does that a lot, letting Jean place the boundaries in order to cultivate a false sense of security. Jean’s grateful for it this time though. He doesn’t want Jeremy to know there’s anything wrong because Jean can still play. He can and he will. He has to. 

Jean sits back against the headboard and watches Jeremy get dressed. He knows that Jeremy is off to meet the girls for lunch because yesterday he declined Jeremy’s invitation to come with them. Jeremy levels Jean with one last worried glance before leaving the dorm. Jean scrunches down into his blankets once he hears the lock click. His hips still burn but he just needs a few minutes and he’ll be fine. 

He’s always, fine. 

 

—

If there’s one thing that Charlie Rhemann can count on, it’s the fact that his kids trust him. He’s the closest thing they’ve got to a parent on campus and they’re the closest thing his perpetually single ass is getting to having a family. He’s scolded them over grades, held them while they cried over breakups, helped them with homework, and gone to bat for them when the school administration tries to blame shit on the student athletes. His kids know that he always has their backs and so when shit comes up, he’s usually the first person they call to fix it. 

So when Jeremy calls him Saturday morning, en route to meet Alvarez and Dermott, to tell him that Jean’s acting weird, Charlie knows that Jeremy isn’t fucking around. And if he’s being honest with himself, he surprised that this is the first call he gets about Jean. For a kid that came to them with a face as battered as his backpack, the last two weeks on campus had been eerily easy compared to what Wymack had warned him to expect. If Charlie had his way, he’d keep Jean in his sights 24/7 just to ensure nothing ever hurt the damn kid again. But Charlie is a reasonable man and he knows that young adults need their space. So he’d let Jean spend the past week familiarizing himself with his peers, keeping his concern hidden, and only telling Jeremy to tell him if something is blatantly wrong. So he makes his way across campus and lets himself into Jean and Jeremy’s dorm. It becomes abundantly clear that something is, indeed, blatantly wrong the second he steps inside the bedroom. Jean doesn’t stir when thedoor clicks open and that in itself sets Rhemann on edge. Jean is hyperaware. His eyes are always searching for threats and exits. Rhemann would bet his life savings that Jean could tell you the time, down to the second, if need be. So when he walks in and sees the kid huddled under his blankets, non-responsive, Charlie starts internally freaking the fuck out. He places a hand on the kid’s shoulder, rolling him over onto his side. He runs a hand across the pulse point at Jean’s neck and sighs in relief when he feels the steady thrum beneath his fingertips. Hazel eyes blink open sluggishly as they search the room and land on Rhemann’s face. The kid doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. He looks completely out of it, dazed and confused as he wait for Rhemann to move. He doesn’t struggle as Charlie pulls the blankets away. The kids’s t-shirt is drenched in sweat and his body trembles ever so slightly, but there’s no sign of blood. 

 

“Jean, are you alright?” Charlie asks, calm and measured like he’s speaking to a spooked horse. He can see the indecision all over the kid’s face. The consequences of being honest are so clearly being calculated inside Jean’s head that it makes Charlie queasy.Rhemann hates this. He hates that this eighteen something year old kid has to weigh options before telling him what’s wrong. He hates that Jean is in pain but still thinks that Rhemann will hurt him for admitting it. But whatever’s wrong must outweigh whatever consequences Jean thinks there are because he raises a shaking hand to rest against his hips and mumbles, _it hurts_ , almost too low for Rhemann to hear. It’s a confession and a plea all at once and Charlie isn’t sure what rules apply to this situation but Jean is one of his kids so he pushes forward. 

 

Rhemann hovers his hands over Jean’s, glancing up to make sure Jean understand his intentions. The kid still looks dazed and afraid, but he nods, giving permission for Rhemann to do what he has to do. Jean moves his hands from his hip and Rhemann slowly pushes Jean onto his back before gently pushing the kid’s sweatpants down a few inches, just until the jut of his hipbones peak out. 

“Oh my god, Jean.” Charlie whispers, mouth gaping. 

Jean’s hips are swollen and bruised. Bruised in the shape of hand prints. Rhemann isn’t stupid. He can put handprint shaped bruises on hips and what he knows about Jean’s situation at Edgar Allen and come up with nothing good. He skims his fingers lightly over the swollen area, checking for any visible breaks. Jean whimpers, tries to curl away from the touch, and it’s killing Rhemann but he grabs Jean’s arms firmly and forces him to remain still before movement makes whatever this is worse than it already is. He can see that Jean wants to struggle from his grasp. 

“Jean, stop moving.” he says, voice pitched low. 

Jean instantly stills at his tone, eyes widening before he starts babbling incoherently. 

_Please, don’t, not today, I can’t, I can’t, please._

Charlie’s heart bottoms out. 

Because he understands what Jean thinks he’s going to do and Charlie hates himself for not realizing it sooner. How all of this must look to Jean. They’re in his bedroom and he’s got Jean’s wrists in his hands and he’s in a position of authority and there are handprints on his hips and…and..

And suddenly, he has to make sure that Jean knows that he would never do that. 

“Jean, kid, listen to me, listen to me.” he implores, moving his hands away from Jean’s wrist and holding them in front of him in a placating gesture. “I would never do that. I would _never_ touch you like that. No body gets to touch you like that unless you say it’s okay. Not me, not anyone on this team, no one. I’m just trying to help you. Will you let me do that?”

He can see that the words don’t make sense to Jean. He can see that the context for understanding just isn’t there. But he can also can see Jean wavering on the precipice of a decision. Letting Rhemann help him means giving up some measure of control. It takes a few moments of Jean staring at Rhemann, searching his face for deception, before the boy nods. 

 

Rhemann knows that the easy thing to do would be to take the kid to the hospital and let the professionals deal with this. He’s been a coach long enough to know what hairline fractures look and feel like. He rationalizes that the existing damage was probably exacerbated by Galaxy’s check in practice yesterday. He also knows that there’s nothing for this type of physical injury but ice, anti-inflammatories, and a few days of rest. All of which could be administered in a hospital by people far more qualified to deal with this sort of thing than he is. Instead, he goes to the fridge and pulls out two bags of frozen peas, steals a towel from the kitchen counter, and rustles around in the bathroom until he finds a bottle of ibuprofen. He pads back into the bedroom and tries not to sigh in relief when he sees Jean lying in the same position he left him in. 

“Alright Jean, this is gonna hurt a little bit but just bear with me okay.” Rhemann says, as he gently rolls Jean to his left side, quickly fitting a pillow underneath his back and butt, before rolling him back over. He gives Jean two ibuprofen and a glass of water, helps the kid sit up long enough to swallow. Trying to ignore Jean’s labored breathing, Charlie pushes the sweatpants down and the hem of his tshirt up, enough to fit both ice packs. He swallows back the bile that tries to rise up in his throat at the sight that greets him. Jean’s entire abdomen is black and blue, more fingerprint shaped bruises littered across his hips and pelvis. There’s a jagged fading line that dips from his bellybutton to the bottom of his torso. Old, white lines criss cross their way under the bruising, painting a picture that Rhemann is trying very hard not to think about. Charlie makes himself inhale and exhale, forces himself to methodically lay the towel over the kid’s hips and place the frozen peas on top. Jean’s breathing is harsh but controlled, even as his body trembles in pain, and everything in Rhemann aches at the sight of him trying to hold it together. He reaches a hesitant hand out to stroke the sweat soaked hair back from Jean face. His palm lingers on his cheek, thumb dancing over the tattoo nestled cruelly under Jean’s eye. He feels the kid lean into the contact, almost involuntarily. Rhemann can see that Jean’s two seconds away from being passed out asleep but he can’t bring himself to move his hand. He runs through Jean’s hair again, thinking of how his mama used to do that when he was a kid and puking his brains out with a bout of the flu. He traces his thumb over the kid’s cheekbones until he feel his breathing even out in slumber. His hand stays theres, rubbing smooth circles onto pale skin, and he takes a moment to really look at the kid. Dark brown hair flops over his brow, uneven in patches from where it had been ripped out. The tattoo is stark against Jean’s pale skin. There’s a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks and a bruise lingers, yellowing, under his left eye. In repose, Jean is calm, still in a way that he isn’t when he’s awake and afraid. 

God, this kid is so fucking young. Too young to be dealing with the sort of shit he’s dealing with. 

When he was eighteen, Charlie was smoking weed in the woods behind his house and filling out college applications. He wasn’t trying to figure out who to trust or how to stop getting hurt. He wasn’t going to bed with hand shaped bruises on his hips or an unwanted tattoo on his face. He wasn’t running from the past or terrified of the future. He was just a stupid kid making stupid choices and not caring about anything but himself. He was young and free and loved by his parents and his sister. He ate when he was hungry and played Exy when he wanted to and none of his sexual partners had ever held him down or made him do anything he hadn’t wanted to do.

And the worst part is that he wants all of that for Jean but doesn’t know how to give it to him. He wants Jean to know that he’s safe here, with Rhemann and his team. He wants Jean to talk back and eat breakfast and kiss whoever he wants to kiss and skip class every once in a while and learn to read so he can have a favorite book. He wants a million things for this kid and as he sits there, stoking damp hair off his forehead, he feels Jean slot into his heart like he was always meant to be there. 

This kid is going to be the fucking death of him. 

—

When Jean wakes, he does so slowly. He’s warm and slightly dazed. There’s a dull ache in his hips, but nothing like the burning from before. He feels something cool on his hips, liquid running down into the waistband of his sweats and he immediately panics at the sensation. 

Rapidly blinking his eyes open, he’s startled to see Coach Rhemann, not Riko, asleep in a chair beside his bed. The man has his arms crossed and his head hangs down low on his chest, soft snores echoing across the dark room. Jean reaches a hand down his own body and startles when he feels ice packs are the cause of the liquid. Condensation, not semen. Jean sighs in relief. When he wakes once more, it’s morning and Coach is gone. There are two ibuprofen and a glass of water on the nightstand and for the first time, Jean thinks he might be alright here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful response to this story. Just a quick note moving forward. Jean's got some baggage to deal with and I'll always, always tag important shit before the story. If there's something that I've accidentally forgotten to tag, please let me know.
> 
> Next chapter, we'll get to see the team interact with each other outside the court and Jean gets to make a new friend who, despite outward appearances, knows a little something about what he's been through. 
> 
> Also, any mistakes made with descriptions of play on the court are my own. I come from a lacrosse background so if it seems like that's what I'm using as a reference, you'd be correct ;p


	8. Interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dictionary is not always your friend.

_Father is always angry._

 

_Angry at Maman and the men in grey suits and his telephone and the rain and Jean. Sometimes, Jean thinks that maybe Father needs confession so he won’t be so mad all of the time. Maman always says she feels better after church so maybe Father will too. But Father isn’t always angry. Sometimes, when no yelling comes from Father’s office, he will smile when he sees Jean in the hallway and Jean will smile back. Maman says smiling means you’re happy and that the people you love make you happy. So Father must love Jean like Jean loves Father._

 

_—_

 

_Lots of people come in and out of Father’s office. Jean isn’t supposed to listen at the door but sometimes he hears them talk about big, important things with big, important words. Words like transcontinental arms deals. Jean even uses the dictionary in the library to look up the word transcontinental. He learns that it means crossing a continent. So Jean knows that Father must see a lot of places because Maman told him that all seven continents make up the whole world and that’s a lot of places for arms to deal._

 

_—_

 

_Jean knows a lot of things that he isn’t supposed to know. He knows what transcontinental means and he knows that the lock on the hall closet will slide open if you jiggle it to the left.He knows that there are a lot of knives in the hall closet but that no one is supposed to touch them but Father and the men in grey suits. He knows that Chef will give him an extra cookie if he makes his eyes really big and that Maid will hide coins under his pillow if he picks all of his toys up. He knows that Maman used to sometimes kiss one of the men in grey suits that Father hires but that man went away one day and never came back. Jean knows that when Maman sends him alone to play at the park across the street, that she won’t come to tuck him in at night. He’s five so he knows how to brush his own teeth and put his pajamas on but he likes it better when Maman helps him because then she sings the toothbrush song._

 

_—_

 

_One day, when Maman sends him alone to the park, Jean meets another boy under the slide. His name is Andy and he says he’s from A-mer-i-ca. He tells Jean that his mom has a new job and now they all live here; his parents, his sister, and him. Andy is very pale and his eyes are very blue and his hair is yellow like the flowers that crawl up, up, up towards the sky. Jean thinks he’s very pretty, like Maman when she wears her green scarf or Father when his face is not angry. Andy takes Jean’s hand and says that they’re best friends and best friends get married. Jean’s never had a best friend but he knows that you’re supposed to get married like Maman and Father. Andy is nice and has pretty eyes and if Jean marries him, then they’ll be best friends forever. So Jean lets Andylead him under a tree and hand him an acorn and pronounce them husband and husband. But then Andy’s mom is calling his name but Andy promises that he’ll see him tomorrow._

 

_When Jean gets back home, Father is standing in the living room. When Father turns, he looks stern but Jean is happy to see him._

 

_“Look Father, I’m married!” Jean shouts, holding the acorn up for his Father to see. Father takes the acorn and turns it between his fingers with a small smile._

 

_“Married?” Father says, looking down at Jean._

 

_Jean nods.”Married! His name is Andy and he says we’re best friends now so we have to be married!”_

 

_This knocks the smirk off of Father’s face. He grabs Jean roughly by the shoulders, shakes him hard. Once, twice, thee times. He lifts Jean up so that he’s eye level. His eyes are black, black and angry and Jean is afraid._

 

_“I won’t have a faggot as a son!” Father yells, shaking Jean again._

 

_Jean starts to cry and Father drops him to the floor where Jean lands clumsily on his feet._

 

_Jean starts to cry. He doesn’t understand why Father is so angry. The crying makes Father’s face turn very red and suddenly, Father is hitting Jean over and over and over again. Jean tries really hard to stop cryingso Father will stop hitting him, but he’s scared and he wants Maman and he doesn’t understand what a faggot is but he doesn’t want to be one. Eventually, Father stops. He leaves Jean on the living room floor._

 

_That night, Maman spends a long time cleaning the blood from Jean’s face. Her eyes are sad when she looks at Jean but she sings him the toothbrush song when he asks._

 

_One tooth, two tooth, three tooth, four. There’s nothing in this world besides you that I love more._

 

_—_

 

_The next day, Andy isn’t at the park. He isn’t there the next day or the day after that or the day after that. Jean knows that Andy must have divorced him. Jean knows what divorce is because he’s five and very smart. And also because the man in the grey suit that Maman used to kiss once told Maman to divorce Father and run away with him. Maybe Andy ran away with a boy in a grey suit. Or maybe he divorced Jean because he’s a faggot, like Father said. The dictionary tells Jean that faggot means a lot of sticks. Jean isn’t a stick but he is kind of skinny. Maybe Andy didn’t want a skinny stick for a best friend. There are a lot of other boys at the park that Jean thinks might make good husbands. But none of them have sunshine hair like Andy so Jean decides that maybe he doesn’t want to be married after all._

 

_—_

 

_A week after his divorce, Jean hears two old women talking._

 

_“Found the boy in the street, covered in blood with his tongue cut out.”_

 

_“The American Embassy is having a fit. A child murdered just like that.”_

 

_“Lovely little thing too. Beautiful blonde tike, his poor soul.”_

 

_“What a tragedy.”_

 

\--

_When he gets home, Jean looks up murdered in the dictionary and thinks that maybe divorce and murdered kind of mean the same thing._

 

_Jean doesn’t go to the park across the street anymore._

 

 

 

 


	9. Golden Stars and French Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which friends are found over french toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has brief mentions of rape and an eating disorder. As always, proceed accordingly.

The pain in Jean’s hips turns out to be nothing more than severe bruising coupled with inflammation of the hip joint on the right side. Jean knows this because Rhemann had taken him to a doctor’s office Saturday afternoon to have x-rays done. The doctor is discrete, tells Jean everything he’s going to do before he does it, and never touches him before Jean nods that it’s okay. He tells Jean to take it easy for a few days to let the inflammation go down, give the bruises a few weeks to heal up, and come back if the pain gets any worse. Rhemann is in the waiting room when Jean is done, holding a white prescription bag that Jean knows contains a bottle of anti-inflammatories along with a broad spectrum anti-biotic. Jean knows this because the doctor had asked if, at the time he received the bruising, any type of protection was used and had received a negative shake of Jean’s head in response. The knowing look in the doctor’s eyes had made Jean look away, blushing in shame. It’s as though every person he meets can see all of the broken places inside of him.

—

Rhemann hands the bag over to Jean when he drops him off at the dorm, voice gentle as he reminds Jean that the pills are meant to be taken morning and night, with food. Jean nods his head before retreating across the parking lot. He trudges his way up to his dorm, thankful for the elevator after being poked and prodded for an hour. His hips ache and his head hurts and the implication of the anti-biotic sit heavily in Jean’s chest. Everything sits heavily these days. 

 

He lets himself into the dorm, nodding at Jeremy and Reyes, who are perched in front of the television. Making his way into the bedroom, he throws the pills onto his bed, grabs a towel along with some clothes, and heads to bathroom to shower. Avoiding the mirror, he quickly undresses and steps under the spray of the water. 

 

Long, warm showers are the singular most exquisite luxury Jean has encountered in his two weeks in California.Everything in the Nest had been centered around efficiency. But here, the water just stays warm for however long Jean wants to stand there. He has his own shampoo and body wash that smell like coconuts. He’s never eaten a coconut but he thinks that if it tastes as good as it smells, then maybe someday he might want to try one. There are a lot of things he wants to try. Like coconuts and swimming in the ocean and reading and learning to drive.

Except sometimes, all the time actually, Jean can barely make himself get out of bed. The idea of trying those things is exhausting. There is a numbness inside of him that no amount of hot water can thaw. He has always felt this way, but Riko’s violence had been enough of a motivator to get up and go to practice and class. But nobody has hurt him at USC, not Jeremy or Rhemann or the rest of the team. There’s nothing to distract him from how overwhelmingly empty he feels. And that’s how he feels. Empty. Like there will never be enough Exy or reading lessons or warm showers to make him feel like a real person.

 

——

Riko liked control. 

He liked to hold Jean down, spread him out, and make him bleed. He liked to command Jean’s agony, screams, moans of pain and unwanted pleasure. He wanted to make it so that Jean never knew which way was up. He liked to pull the skin from his body and the blood from his veins and the food from his mouth. 

 

_Pretty birds don’t need to eat._

_Property does not need breakfast._

_Begging for scraps, little bird?_

_You know what you need to do to eat._

 

And Jean had done what he needed to do to survive. 

He had let Riko hold him down and take anything he wanted just so that Jean could have a chance at having a meal. And if the memory of the weight of Riko in his mouth meant that sometimes he couldn’t swallow the food he was given without vomiting it back up, then that was a small price to pay for the times when the food stayed down. 

 

Jean is self aware enough to know that food is not the enemy, but rather a scapegoat for his trauma. He’s only been in California for two weeks, but he has never been denied a meal here. In fact, everyone, Jeremy especially, has gone out of their way to include Jean in their meal plans. But he still can’t bring himself to eat like they do. He still can’t bring himself to eat breakfast. Rhemann thought he had eaten that first day after he got to California, but he had excused himself to the restroom to vomit it back up. He hasn’t been allowed food before noon since the day he left France and the one and only time he had tried to sneak breakfast, he ended up with a broken arm. He finds it difficult to succumb to meal times the way that the others do. They just put food on their plates in the dining hall, order whatever they like at the diner, eat snacks in the middle of the day just because they want to. They do all of this so casually, without considering what price they will have to pay for it. And Jean can’t do that. He can’t eat cereal with Jeremy at eight in the morning and he can’t even read the menus in the diner and snacking is such a foreign concept that even thinking about putting a granola bar in his gym bag makes his heart flutter uncomfortably. 

So it doesn’t matter that the pills need to be taken with food, morning and evening. It doesn’t matter that he’s eaten less than once a day since he arrived in California. It doesn’t matter that he always feels one wrong step away from passing out from hunger or anxiety or both. None of it matters because there are too many food rules to ignore just because he’s in a new place. But he also can’t disobey Rhemann by not taking the pulls if he wants to stay here. And despite everything, he thinks he might want to. 

—

Having a staring contest with a pill bottle is not an activity that sane people engage in, Jean thinks to himself that night. Jeremy is snoring across the room, has been for the past two hours, and Jean has spent that time staring at the two white pills on his bedside table. Rationally, he knows that he needs to eat. He can’t play Exy with his hips in the condition they’re in and he suffered through a few STD’s during his time in the Nest so he knows that the anti-biotic is the logical solution to avoiding that. He knows that Rhemann gave him permission to eat when he reminded Jean that he can’t take the pills on an empty stomach. But he just…can’t. He can’t shake a decade’s worth of conditioning and he can’t not take these pills and being a person is really much more difficult than Jean originally anticipated. He swallows the pills dry on an empty stomach and spends the night suppressing the violent urge to be sick. 

—

A persistent knocking on the door wakes Jean up Sunday morning. He’s surprised to see Galaxy Reyes at his door, wearing a sheepish smile and shuffling his feet back and forth. Clad in sweatpants and an oversized red and gold t-shirt, messenger bag slung across his chest,Reyes looks like a child. His dark skin and unkempt curls do not help age him up at all and for some reason, Jean finds himself completely confident in the knowledge that Reyes is not the person on this team that deals out punishments. Perhaps that is why he agree to go to breakfast with Reyes at the diner across campus. 

Jean remembers the diner, the same one Rhemann had taken him to that first day in California.It’s quiet this morning, just an elderly couple in a booth near the door and a sleep deprived student inhaling coffee at the counter. Galaxy settles them in a corner booth, slipping into one side of the vinyl booth. Jean’s back is to the wall with an unobstructed view of the entire establishment, door included. Jean looks up when he realizes this; Galaxy gazes back at him knowingly. The waitress brings them waters and Galaxy orders them both french toast. He specifies that Jean wants blueberries on his. 

 

“How do you like USC so far?” Galaxy asks, eagerly. Jean notes that his eyes are bright and wide, the light flickers off the brown of the irises making them almost iridescent in their excitement.

 

“It is… different here. Warmer. Calmer.” Jean replies nervously. He picks at the corner of his napkin, hating himself for the nervous tick of his index finger. He used to be better at pretending he was okay. He could banter at team functions and snark in front of the press. But it’s as though something inside him had snapped loose during that last night at the Nest, something that he hasn’t figured out how to put back in place.

 

Galaxy laughs, bringing Jean out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I could see that. We get a lot of sun here.” He pauses, tilting his head to look at Jean. “But I didn’t really bring you here to talk about the weather. I actually wanted to talk to you about something serious.”

 

Every organ in Jean’s body must stop functioning because he is instantly certain that he is going to pass out. Jean was wrong. Jean was very, very wrong. Reyes is obviously here to lay out the rules and tell him how he needs to pay for his meals and Jean is so, so stupid for thinking that he could come to breakfast and not be asked for something in return. He doesn’t let it show on his face, but he thinks he’s very ready to run. If he utilizes the element of surprise, he can most likely beat Reyes to the door and bolt into the street.Adrenaline will keep his hips in check long enough to run a few miles and…and…he cannot run. He cannot run because the Trojans are his new owners and they’ll find him. They always find him.

 

_Jean, Jean, Jean trying to run. Trying to leave. You can never leave, pretty bird. You belong to me. If you try to run, I will find you. If you try to hide, I will find you. I will always find you. Now let’s see if we can’t make the lesson stick._

 

_CLANK!_

 

The waitress shoves dishes onto the table, snapping Jean back to the present. He tries to not let the fear show on his face but he’s not entirely sure that he succeeds. The plates of french toast sit between them; a poor excuse of a dead man’s land in a war Jean hadn’t anticipated participating in this early in the morning. Galaxy nudges his plate towards himself but doesn’t raise his fork to begin eating. 

 

“Did you know that I have seven sisters?” Galaxy abruptly says. “Seven sisters and I’m the one that ends up with an eating disorder.”

 

And that…that brings everything in Jean’s mind to a stop.

 

“Anorexia, actually.” Galaxy continues, voice soft but confident, as though he’s discussing the weather. “I was fifteen when it started. First, it was just one rule like no sugar after lunch and then it just kind of snowballed from there. No food except for Sundays, gym three times a days, obsessing over calories, never looking at my body. Until one day, I was 98 pounds and could barely get out of bed. My parents put me in treatment and I’m better now. I mean, I still have off days and I’ll always struggle with it, but I can look a the french toast on this plate and know that it’s not my enemy anymore.” 

 

Jean is speechless.

 

Galaxy isn’t deterred by his silence. He reaches into the shoulder bag he brought with him and pulls out a box, sliding it across the table to Jean. “Open it.” he says.

Jean does. It takes everything in him not to weep. 

Inside sits a watch. The face is covered in stars, with a sun and moon chasing each other as the seconds tick by. The time is already set, 11:45, and the light of the diner glints softly at the gold inlay around the watch face. The band is thick, brown leather. It is the most beautiful thing Jean has ever held in his hands. 

“It’ll beep six times a day, three meals and three snacks. That way, you don’t have to remember and you don’t have to ask permission. The watch is like your new rules. Better rules than the ones you have now.”

Everything is Jean’s mind is humming. Because Galaxy knows the rules. Jean isn’t alone because Galaxy knows the rules and he beat the rules. And then he had given the cheat sheet to Jean so that Jean could beat them too. 

Jean’s throat is thick as he tries to speak. “Thank you.” 

 

“You’re very welcome, Jean.” he replies with a smile.“I hope you like the stars. I noticed you always look up at the sky every time you go outside so I thought it’d be nice to bring the sky with you inside.” Galaxy says as he slides one plate of toast across the table, fingers briefly brushing across Jean’s wrist as he does. 

As Jean picks up his fork, the watch beeps.

Jean eats breakfast for the first time since he was six and if tears drip silently down his face to mix in the puddle pf syrup on his plate, Galaxy has the good grace not to mention it. 

—

Later, when Jean and Jeremy are getting ready for bed, Jeremy casually pauses in his nighttime routine to remark, “I like your watch Jean. Galaxy had good taste, huh?”

Jean looks up at him sharply. 

Jeremy’s smile is timid.“Galaxy had one too, when he first came here. I thought it might help you like it helped him.” And with that, Jeremy goes right back to brushing his teeth as though he hasn’t just granted Jean permission to exist. But before they settle into their respective beds, Jeremy places a sleeve of crackers next to Jean’s pill bottles. The room is silent as Jean hesitantly eats the crackers and swallows his pills. His stomach is quiet that night and so are his dreams. 

—

In the morning, the watch chirps at 8 am, just as Jeremy is handing Jean a bowl of cereal that Jean slowly and methodically eats in its entirety. When the watch chirps during practice, Jeremy calls a water break and Alexander grabs a box of granola bars out of her bag, tossing one to every person on the team, Jean included. For the first time, Jean doesn’t decline Jeremy’s offer to join the team for dinner. He goes with them to McDonalds and eats french fries while the sounds of the team’s laughter washes over him. He feels as though maybe existing is not as confusing as he thought it was. It’s not completely fixed, but it’s a start in the right direction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have final exams this week so obviously I'm avoiding my studying to write about these kids. Thanks for all of the feedback! ( I swear, after final exams, I'm going to go back and make the French language and my grammar not look like a trash can in previous chapters)
> 
> Anyways, hope everyone has a lovely week. Next chapter will be soft, soft, soft so prepare your hearts.


	10. Of Dreams and Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the truth begins to become a reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with mentions of rape and suicide. As always, proceed accordingly.

Things get better after Galaxy gives Jean the watch.

 

It helps more than Jean could have ever imagined, to have new rules. The watch beeps six times a day, just like Galaxy said it would. Each time it gets a little easier to eat the food that’s presented to him. The team takes snack breaks with him during practice, one or more of them is always around for lunch, and Jeremy eats breakfast and dinner with him every single day. Bruises heal, his hips stop aching, he gains a little bit of weight, and he finishes his course of antibiotics. His blood work panel pronounces him clean of any STD’s and only marks a slight deficiency in iron, something that Rhemann seeks to correct by handing Jean a bottle of iron supplements one day after a reading lesson. Jean takes them every day at breakfast and soon, he feels a little less tired than usual. His body feels good, in a way that it hasn’t in years.

 

Over the course of their daily reading lessons, Rhemann gives him dozens of children’s books; Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein, Goodnight Moon and the Hungry Caterpillar. Some of them are worn, fraying at the edges. Some have  CHARLIE scribbled on the inside covers. Some of them are brand new and have spines that crack when he opens them. Together, they practice the words every day. Rhemann reads the book once, pointing at each word as he goes and Jean reads it back to him until all of the words make sense. Jean can read almost all of them by himself, only stumbling over the occasional word. Rhemann gives him little flashcards with pictures on them so he can practice sounding longer words out, matching the image on the card with the letters.He gives Jean a composition book to practice writing the letters out, words forming achingly slow with every page. Jean finds writing to be easier than reading. He finds a little bit of freedom in the space between the pen point and the paper. 

 

Jean never tells the team about not being able to read, but somehow they seem to pick up on his hesitance to look at restaurant menus or participate in the team building activities, like Giant Scrabble played on the campus quad, that Jeremy seems to think will help them all play better in the fall.  He never explicitly tells them that he can’t read English and yet, they adjust to make thing easier for him. Alvarez starts using symbols along with words when drawing plays on the locker room whiteboard. Jeremy reads the menu out loud, acting as though he’s pondering his choices, when really Jean knows that it’s all for his benefit. The team seems to catch onto this habit and take it upon themselves to mimic Jeremy when they go out. One day, Jean comes back to the dorm to find little post it notes, just like the ones Alvarez uses write reminders, over everything in their apartment. They each have a word and a pronunciation on them.

 

_Bed. Door. Window. Cereal. Coffee. Dresser. Television._

 

Jean recognizes the writing on each of them; Laila’s precise loops, Penny’s sloppy scrawl, Jeremy’s block letter, Galaxy’s doodles above the letter _i._ Jeremy helps him practice at the breakfast table, sounding the words out and explaining that _their, there, and they’re_ are all spelled differently, tries to convince Jean that the English language sometimes makes sense even if Jean begs to differ.Jean collects the smile in Jeremy’s voice as he sounds the words out for Jean and tucks them away next to the sound of Maman’s laughter and the smell of the ocean. He collects a dozen different moments from the weeks that pass and he locks them all away to cherished later, when the Trojans realize he’s nothing but a caged animal and send him back to Edgar Allen. 

 

—

Jean considers himself a realist.

He never let himself dream about things he could not change, never wished for meals he wasn’t allowed to have, and never gave any pretense that his body was anything more than something to be used by other people.

Pretense is what gets property killed. 

It’s why Jeremy is dangerous. Dangerous because he makes Jean _feel,_ make Jean _want_ for things he isn’t entitled to have. Like Jeremy’s bright smile and thoughtful gestures. The way he claps Jean’s shoulder during practice. When he shares his Gatorade after Jean forgets his water bottle. How he introduces Jean to his brother over Skype, calling Jean his friend. The way he says Jean’s name like it _means_ something. The way they gravitate towards each other in a room, the way the girls look at them when they think he’s not paying attention. The way that sometimes, Jean wants to reach out and touch Jeremy’s hand. The way that Jean is halway certain that Jeremy would let him. 

Sometimes, Jean thinks that he wants Jeremy to touch him in the way that Riko did, the few times it felt good. But not really in the same way because Jean also wants to touch Jeremy back, wants Jeremy to say _yes_ and wait for Jean to say _yes_ in return. He thinks that if he changed his mind about Jeremy touching him, Jeremy might stop if Jean asked him to. Sometimes, he thinks about what it would feel like to make Jeremy feel good and Jeremy make him feel good in return. He thinks a million things at once but none of them are anything more than fantasy. So he lets himself have Jeremy’s smiles and company because those are things that he is almost certain he can live without when he wakes up from this dream. 

 

And it’s not just Jeremy that gives Jean moments to lock away in his ever growing collection of beautiful memories. It’s the whole team. 

 

Laila and Alvarez take Jean shopping and buy him new jeans, a soft sweater, and a grey pea coat with big, brown buttons down the center. They take him to get his hair cut when the uneven patches finally grow in, telling him he looks handsome when he flicks the curls uncertainty off of his brow. Penny invites Jean to her dorm one day after practice and shows him how to paint his nails. Jean doesn’t know what his favorite color is so Penny paints each nail a different one- red, blue, orange, yellow, turquoise, indigo, pink, silver, green, and white.Ten colors but but none of them black. The yellow of his thumb is like the sun and the next time Penny invites him over, she paints all ten fingers the same golden shade. 

Galaxy shows him pictures of his seven sisters (Constance, Katarina, Saturn, Amelie, Emma, Adrienne, and Violet) and tells him about growing up in such a loud house. He tells Jean that he knows how to french braid, build a dog house, and cook eggplant parmesan. Jean confides that he used to know how to play the piano, that he thinks his favorite color might be yellow, and that he’s allergic to strawberries which is why he puts blueberries in his oatmeal instead. Lily teaches him to curse in Creole in exchange for Jean teaching her how to do it in French. Her accent is terrible but her laughter is light and playful. 

 

All of it fills him up inside, makes him feel the jagged edges feel a little less rough. He knows that this is temporary, that eventually he’ll be shipped back to Edgar Allen because happiness doesn’t last for things like him. But it’s alright. He still has his memories; too wide smiles, painted nails, words in books, three meals a day, a dozen days of sunshine warming his face. If his life is meant to take him back to Evermore, at least he has a million moments of the sky to get him through. At least he has this month of moments that makes his chest burn with something that feels like hope.

But hope is not enough to fix everything. When he goes back to Edgar Allen, he’ll have to take all of this light into the dark and he isn’t sure he knows how to do that. He feels numb with the thought of all of this ending, which is why Jean looks up the school psychologist in the directory and makes an appointment. 

 

—

 

Dr. McFarren is nothing like Jean expects a therapist to be. Her office is filled with vivid, colorful artwork, bright with afternoon sunshine that trickles through the bay window. Instead of beige couches, she has outrageously loud armchairs. The desk is uncentered where it sits, caddy corner against the far wall. McFarren herself is just as bright as unexpected as her office. With a wild mane of hair, chocolate skin, a rainbow polka dot blouse, and a florescent smile,she exudes the type of friendliness that one associates with a loyal canine companion.It makes Jean feel safe. Safe enough to talk. 

 

“Hey Jean, thanks for sending over you paperwork.” she says after they take their respective seats. Her voice is calm and confident; it sets his pounding heart at ease.“Your intake had a lot of good information but it’s not quite the same as talking in person.” Dr. McFarren says with a smile, sitting crosslegged on her chair. 

 

“You’re welcome.” Jean replies, ticking his fingers nervously. The Ravens hadn’t put much stock in mental health, had relied on brainwashing and violence to keep everyone in line. It hadn’t mattered if your brain was fucked as long as you could perform on the court. 

 

“Can you tell me why you’re here today?” she asks. She doesn’t have a notepad or pen in her hand, doesn’t seem interested in anything more than conversation. It puts Jean somewhat at ease to know that she isn’t there to record everything he says. 

 

“I…I am having difficulty with the way things work here.” Jean admits, not quite sure how to adequately summarize his entire life. He had written the basics of his life in the Nest on his new patient paperwork but he isn’t sure how to explain…everything. 

 

“It makes sense that you’d be having trouble adjusting. You went through something incredibly traumatic and now you’re in a new place. It takes the brain some time to sort everything out. How do things work here that makes it so difficult?”

 

_Everything_ , Jean thinks. 

 

“Everything is…everything is better here. I get to eat and play Exy and read. But that’s not the way things work, really.” he finishes lamely. 

Dr. McFarren brow dips in curiosity. “How do things really work then, Jean?”

He pauses as he tries to find the right words. Things are good at USC. He’s beginning to feel like he belongs with the team. They make him feel like he’s supposed to here, living and playing with them. But there’s an uneasiness that lives in the pit of his stomach. He knows he has to go back to Edgar Allen, knows that this all cannot last. 

“Things are…they’re not supposed to be good. There should be rules and bruises and more hours on the court than there are now. I don’t understand it.” Jean says, frustrated that he can’t find the right way to tell her what he means. 

“It sounds like your new team and coach just want you to be happy.”

“But they haven’t asked for anything in return! They’ve given me this dream and I can’t…I don’t want it to be taken away. ” Jean bites out. “They just let me eat whenever my watch beeps and Jeremy never climbs into my bed at night even if sometimes I wish he would but onyl if he asks first. And Rhemann keeps giving me books so that I can have all of these words. And the team, the team is amazing and makes me feel like…like a person or something! They keep giving and giving and giving and I don’t…I’m not going to survive it when they take it all away.” 

 

He can feel the anger simmering beneath the surface. He doesn’t know how to explain all of this to this woman who never spent a day in the Nest. How do you explain wanting to be hurt because it’s the only way you know how to live. How do you explain that a blowjob and a few slices of skin are a meal ticket. How do you explain wanting to die but also wanting to live? How do you explain being handed a dream and knowing that it’s going to get violently ripped away from you the second you fall in love with it? How do you explain the certainty that you will slit your wrists when you’re sent back to the darkness of the Nest. 

 

Dr. McFarren levels him with a gaze that is so understanding that it makes Jean’s skin crawl. 

“You sound certain that this is going to be taken from you.” she says. 

“Of course it is. It’s a matter of when, not if. I didn’t come here for you to tell me what I already know.” he bites back, bitterness seeping into his tone. 

“Then why did you come Jean?”

“For you to tell me how I’m supposed to go back!” he grits out, hands balling into fists at his side. She’s staring at him in the most unhelpful manner. “I want you to tell me how I’m supposed to go back to the Ravens after learning that there is all of this! All of this kindness! How am I supposed to go back to darkness now that I’ve felt sunlight?

He’s shaking. He can feel the tremors moving up his arms and rattling in his chest, matching the uneven keel of his breathing. The panic is creeping in because she doesn’t understand. She can never understand. She can never understand how all of this feels and it was stupid to come here and try to pretend like he could fix any of this. They’re going to send him back to the Nest and the darkness and he can’t, he can’t do it because if he goes back he will surely kill himself just to escape and there are hands on his wrist, pulling them away and he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want Riko _touching_ him, not again, he can’t- 

“NO!” he shouts, stumbling up from the chair and backing himself into the corner. He crouches down, puts his face between his knees. He doesn’t want her to touch him. He doesn’t want anyone to touch him, ever again. Except maybe Jeremy. But maybe not. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything anymore. 

 

The office is silent except for the echo of his harsh breathing as he tries to calm himself. He sings the tooth brush song in his head, counting one tooth, two tooth, three tooth, four. Over and over again until his lungs stop burning. Dropping his hands away from where they’ve grasped his hair, Jean hesitantly looks up. 

 

Dr. McFarren is sitting crosslegged on the floor, two feet in front of him. Her eyes are so gentle, so filled with understanding that something in Jean breaks a little. 

“I don’t want to go back to Edgar Allen. I want to stay here.” he confesses, throat thick as he speaks. 

“It’s alright to want things Jean. You’re human and that means seeking happiness for yourself.”

_Human._

The word drifts across to him, settles somewhere in the palm of his upturned hand. He closes his fingers around it, traps the letters inside, and brings it to his chest. They thump against his heart as he considers the idea.He lets the notion tickle its way into his soul.

They sit in silence for minutes, hours, days, before McFarren speaks again and when she does, it’s as though she’s very far away. 

 

“I know that this seems like a dream that’s going to be wretched away from you, Jean. But I promise you that your Coach and your team won’t let you go back to Edgar Allen. They _want_ you.”

_Nobody has ever wanted me,_ he thinks, as she continues speaking. 

 

“The great Sherlock Holmes once said that once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Consider that maybe, the impossibility of a dream is simply your new truth.”

 

—

 

When Jean gets back, the entire starting line is sitting in their living room. He pauses to observe them. Alvarez and Dermott are cuddled together on the floor closest to the window, stealing kisses from each other. Galaxy and Alexander are squished on the love seat, trying to throw popcorn into each others’ mouths while Wilkins eggs them on from where she curled up like a pretzel on the window sill. Jeremy is sitting on the couch and graces Jean with a brilliant smile as the door clicks closed. “Jean! Come watch Harry Potter with us!” he exclaims, patting the empty spot next to him.

Jean hesitates. 

 

_How ever improbable, must be the truth._

 

“Okay.” he says quietly, making his way over to Jeremy. Curling up with his knees tucked under his chin, Jean settles in to the opening theme. He feels something tap his shoulder and turns his head to see that Jeremy is holding a box of candy out. Jean hesitantly takes the box and a few seconds later, his watch beeps. He eats the M&M’s one by one, noting that the taste doesn’t differ from color to color. He likes them, likes how sweet they taste as he chews. Halfway through the box, Jeremy passes him a bottle of water. Jean lets a soft smile flit across his face, his cheeks flushing as Jeremy graces him with another blindingly bright smile. Come to think of it, Jean’s mouth is a little dry and scratchy. He unscrews the lid and drinks half before placing it on the cushion next to him. The room is warm, and his stomach is full, and Alvarez is laughing in the background as Ron puts his wand up a troll’s nose. Everything is calm and Jean can’t help it as his eyes drift closed.

—

 

“Jean is the cutest fucking person I’ve ever seen and I say that with the full knowledge of what Laila looks like when she wakes up in the morning.” Alvarez says as the movie credits roll. She runs her hands through Laila’s hair as she speaks, twisting a strand around her finger.

 

“He’s like a kitten that got left on the street or something. Sweet and scared but trying to act tough.” Penny chips in as she unfurls from the window sills, long ginger hair swaying as bends down to collect the popcorn bowls off of the floor. Galaxy tries to trip her on her way to the kitchen, grabbing at her ankle. She swats his hands away. “Angry kitten, meow!” he says, head tipping back in laughter. Lily snorts at the exchange from her place near the tv. She flicks the release button on the dvd, putting it back in its case. Slowly, the team makes their way out of the dorm, Alvarez catcalling Laila’s ass as the rest of them cackle.

 

“Bye Jer!” they shout in a chorus down the hallway.

 

“Bye guys!” he shouts back, closing the door softly. He turns to survey the room. Blankets, pillows, and popcorn kernels litter the floor. The coffee table is covered in a sprawl of candy boxes and soda cans.Jean is still asleep on the couch, knees tucked under his his chin. His hands, almost entirely engulfed by the sleeves of his grey hoodie, rest against his slightly parted mouth as though he were biting his nails before falling asleep. Nestled against the couch, Jean looks small and soft in a way that he isn’t when awake. Jeremy takes a second to drink him in; the way his hair falls across his forehead, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the smooth line of his brow, the sharpness of his cheekbones. He’s just as beautiful in repose as he is in motion. 

 

Jeremy ponders leaving him there to sleep, hesitant to wake him when he looks so calm. But sleeping on the couch won’t help anyone’s back. Not to mention if Jean wakes up someplace new, even if it’s just their living room, he’s going to be more freaked out than he usually is. Jeremy walks over to the couch, kneeling in front of Jean. “Jean, wake up.” he says softly. Jean stirs, blinking his eyes open blearily. Jeremy doesn’t miss the flash of fear that crosses his face though. 

 

“Where?” Jean mumbles, eyes drooping with sleep.

 

“You’re in the living room, on campus, in California.” Jeremy says, unconsciously moving a hand to tuck a piece of fallen hair behind Jean’s ear. Jean leans into it, instantly relaxing, seeking out the warmth of Jeremy’s palm. The air between them stills, narrows into the single point where hand connects with cheek. Jean lets out a sigh, eyes closing once more, leaning forward to catch the tips of Jeremy’s fingers where it begins to rub across his temple.

 

“That feels good.” Jean murmurs after a few moments, voice soft with sleep. He tucks his hands around Jeremy’s wrist, sliding them until they cup his fingers between his own, brings them up to his lips. He holds them there, letting his breath ghost over the tips. Jeremy’s heart stutters to a halt. Jean tips his head up, opens his eyes to gaze straight into Jeremy’s. “Thank you. ” he says softly, squeezing Jeremy’s fingers.

 

“For what?” Jeremy whispers, conscious of how hard his blood is pulsing with Jean this close.

 

“ _Ensoleillement_.” Jean sighs contentedly. He presses his lips against Jeremy’s fingertips before releasing them. His eyes close as he slips gracefully back into his slumber.

 

Jeremy allows himself to sit there for a few minutes, utterly breathless.

It feels like a dream.

When they wake the next morning, Jean says nothing and Jeremy decides that maybe it was. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not done with final exams so obviously I've spent my non-existent free time writing another chapter about this group of actual sunshine.
> 
> Next chapter is pivotal for Jean and his relationship for the team and will also have some soft, happy moments for Jean because he is my new son and I need him to be happy.


	11. Interlude IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean's life is a series of realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with rape, sexual assault, and suicide. As always, proceed accordingly.

_Jean is six and he is scared._

_Everything about his new school frightens him; the people, the black walls, the way Riko screams at him. No one here speaks French. They all speak English and Japanese. Jean learns both just so he can understand what’s happening around him. He doesn’t think his new school is a school because he never learns anything out of a textbook and he isn’t allowed to have paper and pens. All he is allowed to do is what Riko tells him. Or try to do what he thinks Riko wants him to do. English is different than French and it takes Jean a long, long time to learn the words run, stop, ball, and Exy. But those are the only words that Riko ever says to him so it’s okay if that’s all he knows._

_Every day Riko takes Jean to practice Exy. The word is new and strange, falls awkwardly off of his tongue. Exy is hard to say and hard to play, almost as hard as Riko’s punches. They stay on the court for a long, long time. Then Riko locks Jean back up in his room for the night. The room doesn’t have a nightlight like the one Maman put next to his bed. Jean knows that the monsters will come out in the dark but he’s so sleepy that every time he closes his eyes, he drifts off. But every night he wakes up crying, his pants and sheets wet. Maman used to say that accidents happen, but it makes Jean feel dirty. He wants Maman. He wants to go home._

 

\--

_Jean is seven and he is hungry._

_He only gets to eat once a day, twice if he’s lucky. The hunger gnaws at his belly all day and night, a constant burning where Maman’s casserole and pastries used to be. Riko says strange things like ‘Property doesn’t need breakfast’ and ‘Property has to earn food’ and ‘Property needs to keep the ball from the goal.’ Jean doesn’t know who Property is but if he finds out, then he’s going to share some of the bread Riko sometimes gives him after practice because being hungry is worse than the big, round bruises on his shins from when he can’t stop the balls from going in the goal._

_Every day Riko says these strange things until one day, Jean asks Riko why he keeps saying things that don’t make any sense. But this makes Riko mad. So mad that he drags Jean back to his room by his hair, throws him on the ground, and kicks him until Jean hears the snap of a rib. In between blows, it occurs to Jean that Riko has never called him by his name. It occurs to him, after the second rib breaks, that Property is him and he is property. Riko’s property._

_“Property will learn its place.” Riko spits._

_And Property does._

\--

 

_Jean is eight and he is sad._

_He doesn’t think he’s going to get to go home. It’s been a long time since he left Maman. He doesn’t think anyone in Evermore wants him to leave because he is never alone and his door is always locked. The only person that talks to him is Riko and that’s only when he orders Jean to do something. Jean can understand almost everything Riko says now, the English words spill from his mouth easier than before. But he misses Maman terribly so he sings himself the toothbrush song and tells himself stories in French when he’s alone in his dark, scary bedroom. He doesn’t think he’s going to see Maman again but maybe if he remembers everything she ever said to him, it’ll be like he never left._

 

\--

_Jean is nine and he is angry._

_He wants to go home. He wants Riko to stop hitting him. He wants to stop being hungry and bruised. He wants to run away and go back to Maman._

_So he does. He picks the lock on his door and sneaks out, makes it halfway across campus before he gets caught. Riko drags him back, beats him, and locks him in his room for two weeks without any food. He chains Jean to his bed every night afterwards for six months._

_Jean never tries to run away again._

 

_\--_

 

_Jean is ten and he is bleeding._

_Riko was given a knife for his birthday and he uses Jean to see how sharp it is. Slices up his thighs, arms, torso, back. It soaks his shirt, stains the cement of his bedroom floor. He uses spare t-shirts and duct tape he filches from the locker room to bandage them up. Every day they practice and every night Riko slices him open. Over and over and over again until the burn of his skin hums in the background of his day, just like the hunger and the emptiness._

 

_\--_

 

 

_Jean is twelve and he has a friend._

_Kevin is fast and strong and scared, just like Jean. They practice together, calling out across the court. Kevin shows Jean how to put more force into his throws and Jean teaches Kevin how to sidestep a block. Kevin is the greatest friend that Jean has ever had. Kevin is the only friend Jean’s ever had. Though sometimes, Jean hates Kevin because Kevin gets a lamp in his room and he eats whenever he wants. Riko doesn’t hit Kevin like he hits Jean. But Kevin learns French quickly and sneaks Jean sandwiches when Riko isn’t looking so Jean forgives Kevin for the other things._

 

_\--_

 

 

_Jean is thirteen and he is uncomfortable._

_Riko spends a lot of time looking at him, boring his gaze into Jean’s back while they change in the locker room. His eyes linger as Jean changes out for practice. When Riko slices Jean’s torso open, he also runs his hands through the blood, smearing it across Jean like paint on a canvas. He shoves his fingers against Jean’s tongue and makes him lick the blood off of his fingers. It’s confusing and different than the normal rules and Jean doesn’t understand what’s going on._

 

_\--_

 

_Jean is fourteen and he is on his knees._

_Riko is in his mouth and Jean is crying because it hurts. He’s gagging and choking but Riko holds his head still, forcing himself in and out. Riko reaches down to touch Jean too and Jean is still crying because Riko’s hand feels good, even though Jean wishes it didn’t. He makes Jean take off his clothes, holds Jean down on his bed. He pushes Jean’s face into his mattress while he thrusts inside, reaches around to touch Jean too, laughs as Jean cries at his release. Riko leaves him shaking on the bed. Jean sobs as the remains of Riko slip down his thighs. The next day, Jean steals a box of sanitary napkins from the girl’s locker room so he doesn’t bleed through his shorts during practice._

 

_\--_

_  
_

_Jean is fifteen and he is lonely._

_Riko, Jean, and Kevin have classes on campus now. Jean can’t read anything in his textbooks but as long as he shows up, he passes. The Master has influence far beyond the realm of the court and he uses it to make sure that Jean can play. All of his classes are lectures, filled with hundreds of students, but not a single one of them makes him feel less like a ghost in his own life. Kevin is distant, obsessed with proving himself. He doesn’t have time to be Jean’s friend when Court is at stake. And Jean gets it, he really does. He just wishes it didn’t feel like his chest is a hollow cavern all of the time._

 

_\--_

 

_Jean is sixteen and numb._

_He plays Exy and spreads his legs for Riko and snarks at the Winter Banquet to cover up the fact that he feels nothing. He keeps a razor in his backpack, waiting for the season to end so that he can slit his wrists. He spends the nights when Riko doesn’t come to his room spinning the razor between his thumb and forefinger, imagining how it will feel to bleed out. He wonders if it’ll hurt, wonders if feeling that is better than feeling nothing. Three months and he’ll be free._

 

_\--_

 

_Jean is seventeen and a pastel angel is lifting him from his cage._

 

_\--_

 

_Jean is eighteen and he is surrounded by sunshine. He eats and plays Exy and sleeps. He has his own bed and dresser. His clothes are never covered in blood and no one touches him at night. He has twenty four children’s books on the shelf above his bed, a shelf of cereal and snacks in the pantry, and a standing movie night with the team on Friday._

_Everything is good._

_Except that Jean knows that living in the sunlight will illuminate his sins in their starkness._

_He has secrets, secrets that have no place to hide once the light creeps in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this whole pivotal chapter in Jean's development and then realized I never gave you guys any of the context that already exists in my head. So here's context! The next chapter is like twice the size of anything I've posted so far and I just got done with final exams so give me a few days to get that up. 
> 
> Also, I promise my smol summer son will have happiness. There is so much softness for Jean in the rest of this story. All things just have to break before they can be built up again, right? ;)


	12. Truth and Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the truth is hard to swallow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with mentions of suicide, rape, and sexual assault. As always, proceed accordingly.

_Text Message: Sarah Alvarez_

_J-Man Moreau, sick footwork today! I’m gonna need you to teach me that!_

 

Jean’s lips twitch as he scans the message, a part of him glowing with the knowledge that he can actually _read_ the message. 

Alvarez is a good partner. She’s steadfast and precise in her play, never hesitating to communicate where she’s headed or what she needs. Once they sort out the small kinks that come alongside working with a new partner who has a different style of play, they’ll be unstoppable. 

Or they won’t.

Her failure is his failure. His failure is her failure. And none of the kindness he’s been gifted by the Trojans will be able to stop the natural order of punishment on the court if one of them isn’t up to par. 

 

—

“Jean, Cheerios or Fruit Loops?” Jeremy asks, holding a box aloft in each hand. 

He’s clad in a pair of worn flannel pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, hair askew, thick framed glasses slipping down his nose. His appearance makes something loosen in Jean’s chest, but he ignores it in favor of answering.

 

“Cheerios.” Jean replies, confident in his choice.

 

Jeremy had taken to doing that sort of thing lately, asking Jean to choose between two options; cheerios or fruit loops, running in the park or on the track, diner or cafe. He only ever gives Jean two options, which Jean is secretly grateful for because anything more would be overwhelming. It’s getting easier with every question that Jeremy asks to respond honestly.

 

Jean’s explored a lot of new foods since he received his watch; burgers, tofu, girl scout cookies, bananas. The team is supportive of his hesitant arrival into what Wilkins claims to be “foodie culture.” They toss him different snack during practice, Laila keeps different kinds of candies in her gym bag that she shares with Jean, and one or more of his teammates always puts some new thing to try on his plate when they’re at the diner. He’s found that he loves tomatoes, hates the sticky feel of his teeth after drinking soda, and prefers tea with honey instead of soy milk. He’s learned that dairy gives him a stomachache after he spent a night throwing up after Jeremy made mac n cheese for dinner. Now, their fridge has soy milk and their freezer has dairy free ice cream. Jeremy makes Kraft with water instead of whole milk, says that anything that comes out of the blue box is delicious and that the milk to water ratio is up for interpretation. 

 

Rhemann had even taken Jean back to the same discrete doctor that did his STD panel to test his intolerance and do a full allergy panel. The hives that spread up his back from the allergy panel are uncomfortable, but the doctor tells him to stay away from strawberries if he doesn’t want his throat to close up. But Jean knows about his strawberry allergy because Riko had thought it was funny to force Jean to eat them and laugh while he choked before administering his epipen, the sole medical assistance he’d been allowed to have. Most likely because a Jean dead of asphyxiation isn’t as fun as a Jean that’s able to be beaten. But this doctor gives him a new epipen and Rhemann tells Jean that he’ll make sure that there’s an extra one on the bus, in the locker room, and that it’ll be notated in his file. Jean is starting to think that Rhemann might actually want Jean to stay alive, with all of the medical assistance he’d provided him since coming to USC, and he finds that he doesn’t mind the concept of someone caring as much as he thought he would.

 

But it also makes Jean feel a bit overwhelmed when Rhemann or Jeremy or anyone on the team bends to accommodate all of the new things that make up Jean the Person. Like buying soy milk. Or reminding Jean to take his iron supplement. Or taking him to the doctor and filling his prescriptions. Or accepting when Jean needs to run alone and when he needs someone to come with him. Or sharing laundry detergent, showing Jean how to use a debit card, asking Jean’s advice on which sweater to wear to dinner. Jeremy, in particular, shares dozens of lessons on how to be human and never makes Jean feel like not knowing something as simple as how to operate the tv remote or not to wash lights and darks together is something that makes him _less_. Jeremy never makes him feel less; always makes Jean feel like he is a person instead of a thing. 

 

Jean watches from his place at their kitchen table as Jeremy pours milk in both bowls- whole for himself and soy for Jean- before grabbing both in one hand and orange juice in the other. He almost trips over the hem of his pants on his way back to the table, laughing as he catches himself. He slips into the chair across from Jean and shoves a bowl across, grinning dopily at Jean’s soft _thank you._ As they eat, Jean takes a moment to savor Jeremy’s presence.

 

 

There is a calmness that exists between them in the mornings. Everything is still and quiet as the sunrise peeks its way through the blinds, interrupted only by their breakfast routine. It’s soothing, the repetition of their morning ritual. It gives Jean a constant. Jeremy is a constant. It’s these quiet moments between the two of them that make Jean ponder how difficult it would be to reach his hand across the table to lace it together with Jeremy’s while they eat.

 

“Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you that the team wants to go out for Penny’s birthday before the semester starts. Just, like, if you wanted to come with?” Jeremy asks with his mouth half full, a drop of milk making it’s way down his chin. His tongue peaks out, swipes it off his lips, swallows it down. 

Jean very deliberately focuses on breathing evenly.

 

“Where are we going?” Jean says, warmth blooming between his ribs at Jeremy’s look of triumph at his agreement to come with the team. He’s taken to inviting Jean everywhere with him, with the team. Encouraging him to choose their company, showing him that they are choosing his. The effort they’ve all put into making him feel less like a Raven and more like a Trojan helps him get out of bed every morning, make him feel a little less numb with every interaction. It also makes him feel unbalanced and emotional, but he finds that he likes the way their approval feels. Especially if it means Jeremy will smile at him like that.

 

“Just downtown. Grab dinner and a few drinks, maybe do some dancing. Although it’s Alvarez and Lily planning this so it’s probably going to be the best kind of shit show.” 

 

“A shit show?” Jean questions, angling an eyebrow up in question.

 

“Oh yeah, Lily might seem chill but she’s got lunatic hiding all up in that red hair of hers. Last year, for Galaxy’s birthday, we ended up wasted on a farm riding horses with no shirts on. Woke up covered in hay and smelling like ass. Best party ever.” Jeremy laughs, filling the room with the sound of happiness. 

Jean smirks.

“But who’s ass did you smell like Knox?”

Jeremy’s eyes widen before his face cracks open with the howl of his laughter.

“I’ll have you know that vodka, coordination, and horse shit don’t mix well and leave it at that.” Jeremy laughs. A second later, Jean’s watch beeps.

Jeremy jumps up, “Shit, we’re gonna be late for practice!” Jean dumps their bowls in the sink to be washed later as Jeremy grabs both of their bags out of the bedroom. Jeremy tosses Jean his bag, slips one Jean’s iron supplements into his hand, and grabs his keys before heading out the door. Jean follows him, belly full and heart light. 

—

They’re one practice into playing full halves and the entire team is fraught with frustration. The Trojans are hard pressed to play like Foxes but they can’t quite manage it. At the time, cutting the starting line down to nine players to be on par with the Foxes had seemed like a great idea. Now, not so much. 

Passes are off, stamina is low, tempers are high. Coach and Jeremy are standing off to the sidelines evaluating the team and making mental notes on their progress. Jeremy’s got Alvarez and Jean shoring up Laila’s goal. Jean’s footwork is beautiful but its clear that he’s off kilter, trying to find a balance between his style of play and Alvarez’s. Penny is subbed in, though she and Galaxy look like they’re about to pass out. Wilkins is attempting to ricochet the ball off the wall and over to Penny but it just doesn’t take. Groans echo across the court as the ball flails to the ground. Jeremy sighs, letting himself back onto the court.

 

“Alright guys, that wasn’t the best but I know that we can do this!” he says, clapping his hands together once to emphasize his words. His team looks back at him skeptically but they trust him so they all take their positions again. Jeremy taps Penny out and jogs to center court, strapping his helmet on the way. He bends his knees, ready to bolt down the court when Wilkins deals out. She deals hard, slinging the ball up and out and suddenly they’re off. Galaxy is on Jeremy’s heals as he scoops the ball up and runs towards the goal. Jean is already sprinting to meet them, Alvarez hot on his heels. 

Ten steps, pass, ten steps, pass. 

But something about therhythm is off. He tries to shore up his steps, make his footwork tighter, but it doesn’t work. He passes to Galaxy an inch too far to the left, making him overcorrect and lose the ball. Jean scoops it up in an instant, deals it back up the court with a frightening amount of force. Jeremy watches its trajectory as he races towards it. Wilkins gets there first, passing it to Galaxy who swiftly turns back down center court, making his way towards the goal. Jean is lurking by the goal, letting Alvarez prowl the midpoint. Jeremy is a few feet further from Galaxy than he’d like but his legs are burning. Galaxy tries to press past Alvarez but gets checked down hard, losing the ball and his balance, sending him crashing into Alvarez. They both tumble to the court floor with exasperated groans.

 

Play comes to a halt and the court is filled with the sounds of their heavy gasps of breath. Wilkins is bent against the plexiglass walls, Galaxy hasn’t gotten up from the floor yet, and the defensive line looks like they’re going to drown in their own sweat. Running full halves in practice was a stupid idea but he can’t change the plan now. He’s too far committed; to the team, the Foxes, the press. The pressure is on him to defend his decision with results and he can’t let them down. 

—

It all comes to a head Friday afternoon.

They’ve been on the court for hours, attempting to run full halves without subbing anyone in. Coach is off to the sidelines, calling out criticism, the little vein above his eyebrow pulsing in what Jeremy knows to be frustration. The ball thumps lamely across the court for the umpteenth time, causing everyone but Jean to groan in irritation. Jeremy is irritated too but he’s the Captain so he has to make this work, has to get his team to keep going. 

 

“Alright guys, let’s go again.” he calls out, ignoring the protests from around the court. 

It’s Alvarez who snaps first.

 

“This is bullshit Jer and you know it!” she shouts, from where she’s hunched over the defensive line.

 

“It’s not bullshit! We can _do_ this, I know we can!” Jeremy retorts, infusing his words with all of the belief his exhaustion can muster. He’s exhausted. He knows they’re exhausted. The sickening creep of anxiety is curled tightly at the base of his spine. 

But they have to do this. They can’t fail. He can’t fail. 

 

“Oh my fucking God, Jer, get a clue!” Alvarez shouts, throwing her racquet on the ground. She marches up to Jeremy, face red and sweaty, as she snatches her helmet off of her head, tossing it on the ground. She strides right up to Jeremy and pokes him, repeatedly, in the chest. “We’re not the Foxes! We have twenty eight players for a _reason_!” she yells. 

 

He bats her hand away roughly. He can feel his face heating up in anger, takes a breath to calm the rage that’s quickly settling in his chest. 

 

“Take a damn lap Alvarez! This is my practice and my team so take a lap and when you’re done, we’re going to GO. AGAIN!” he shouts back, anger and frustration tinging the edge of his words. His hands are curled into fists at his sides and it takes every ounce of self control he has not to storm off the court. They stare at each other, breathing hard and fast.

 

“This is such shit!” Alvarez finally grounds out, viciously grabbing her helmet off the ground before beginning her sprint around the court. With that, the tension dissipates. Everyone snaps out of staring and starts milling around the court, waiting for Alvarez to cool off so play can resume.

Everyone but Jean.

Jeremy looks over and sees that Jean, standing ten feet away from him with his racquet dangling from his hands, is white as a ghost.

—

Everything in Jean’s body is frozen in fear. 

He knew this entire team was too good to be true. He knew that this would happen. 

When Jeremy tells Alvarez to take a lap to cool off without raising a hand to strike her, Jean knows that he is the one who will face punishment for her disobedience. She is his partner and her failure is his failure. He was foolish to think otherwise, letting himself get comfortable around these people because their brightness couldn’t possibly be hiding the violence he was so used to. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

There is no air in his lungs as Jeremy approaches him. Jean flinches back when Jeremy raises his hand. He can see the team crowding around them in his peripheral vision, knows that this first punishment will be an example for the rest of them. It will teach them Jean’s place. He can’t breathe with how much he doesn’t want the rest of them to see this happen. 

 

But then Rhemann is there, dispersing the crowd, and beckoning Jean and Jeremy to his office. He follows them as everything slows to a crawl around him. His legs get him to Rhemann’s officebut he can’t remember telling them to move. His fingertips are starting to go numb. He thought he could trust Rhemann. He thought Rhemann wasn’t going to make him do the same things he had to do in the Nest. He thought this team was different. The office is suddenly very, very warm and he doesn’t think he can do this again. He knows he doesn’t have a choice. 

 

Rhemann closes the door and turns to face the two players. Nobody says anything for a few moments, the only noise the awkard shuffling of Jeremy scuffing his shoe against the floor, so Jean takes that as he cue. He may not _want_ to do this, but he could never forget _how_ to do it. 

He reaches a hand out towards Rhemann’s belt, beginning to undo the buckle as he prepares to sink to his knees.

He hears Jeremy’s muted gasp.

Rhemann reaches out, grabbing Jean’s wrist, pulling him up from where he’s halfway to the ground. “Jean, no.” he says sharply. Jean looks at him in confusion. Isn’t this what Rhemann brought him in here for? To show Jeremy how to punish him? To show Jean his place?

Does he want him over a desk instead of on his knees?

“I don’t understand.” Jean says, looking rapidly from Jeremy to Rhemann, who are both wearing matching stunned expressions. “Do you not want…” he trails off, not sure where it is that he misstepped. He tries to reach for Rhemann’s belt again, certain that if he just let’s Jean do what he’s supposed to, then Rhemann will understand that Jean is good at this, that he can take Alvarez’s punishment, that he can make Rhemann feel good if it means Alvarez doesn’t have to. But Rhemann just pulls his hand off again. 

“What do you think is going on here Jean?” Rhemann asks, slowly and deliberately. It’s clearly a test. 

 

“Punishment.” Jean murmurs uncertainty, eyes trained on the floor. These aren’t the rules. He doesn’t understand what Rhemann wants from him. The air in the room is thick and he knows that he answered wrong because Rhemann sends Jeremy back to practice, leaving him and Jean alone. Rhemann releases his wrist in order to tilt his chin, forcing Jean to look at him.

 

“Jean, I want to listen _very_ carefully to me. No one- not me, or Jeremy, or your teammates, or anyone else one else in the athletic department is going to touch you like that. Ever. I don’t know how things work at Edgar Allen, but that is not how things work here.”

 

And for some reason, Jean believes him.

Believes him because he’s never hit Jean or forced onto his bed. Believes him because there is an epipen in his gym bag and a watch on his wrist and a locker with his name written on it. Believes him because he has one hundred and twenty three more words than he had before. Believes him because there are two dozen books on his shelf. Believes him because he hadn’t been asked to give anything in return for being allowed to be a person. 

 

Jean is certain that the entire world has shifted beneath his feet to reveal a gaping chasm where his belief system used to be. Rhemann isn’t lying. Jean knows it in the depth of his soul; Rhemann doesn’t want to hurt him. It’s too much all at once and Rhemann’s hand is warm on his chin and _tell him, tell him, tell him_ thrums in the back of his mind.

So he does. 

Or he tries to. 

He takes a deep breath, ready to explain everything- starting from when he was young and scared, right up until he was older and broken. He takes a deep breath, open his mouth, and bursts into tears. 

He cries as though he’s dying and it’s so simple to lean forward into the shelter of Rhemann’s arms and let himself be held. He breaks open, spectacularly and violently. Sobs shake his body and he can hear the keening noises that he’s making but he can’t bring himself to care. Rhemann takes everything Jean has to give; his anger, grief, shame. He gathers it in the tightness of his arms as he holds Jean close, close, close. So close that Jean can hear the beating of his heart. He presses himself into the safety of the heartbeat, buries his face in Rhemann’s shoulder, grips his back so tightly it feels as though if he were to let go, he would fall. Rhemann cradles Jean’s head against him, stroking the hair at the nape of Jean’s neck. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ , he mutters in English and French and Japanese. 

A litany of words, murmured against Jean’s ear. _There’s nothing to be sorry for kid. it’s alright let it out, let it go, you’re safe, you’re safe._

He cries and cries and cries, for a long time. Rhemann gathers him close, like he’s a small child, as he cries into Rhemann’s shoulder. Ugly, wrenching sobs, pulled from his gut and clawed out through his throat. He feels as though he’s going to die with the pain of it. 

 

When he calms, there is nothing left in his chest but a lightness. Coming back to himself, he realizes that they’re sitting on the floor, Jean’s back tucked against Rhemann’s chest. Rhemann’s arms form a solid band around him, one across his chest and the other across his stomach, rocking him slightly back and forth. The motion settle him, allows words to peak out. He relishes in just being held so tightly by someone, not having to hold himself up anymore. And just as he’s sure that Rhemann won’t hurt him, he’s sure that he can trust him with the truth. 

 

“I came to America when I was six.” he begins. 

He feels, rather than hears, the sharp intake of breath behind him but he ignores it, knowing that the words will stop if he doesn’t push forward. 

 

“My family has belonged to the Moriyama’s for decades. My birth was a d _ette à vie_ , a life debt to be paid by my father. I was given to Riko as a gift. He trained me, controlled me, owned me. He hurt me. When my partner failed, when I failed, when he was angry or happy or sad. All of the time, for any reason.”

 

“At first, he would hit me to get me to play faster, smarter, better. But as we got older, it changed. It wasn’t about Exy anymore. It was about…about control. He’d lock me in closets for days on end, make me beg for food, cut me until I bled, beat me until I could barely walk. All to show me my place. He would…” and here he stops because if he speaks the words out loud, discloses the truth, its not something he can take back. 

 

Rhemann’s arms tighten around him, buoying him with strength. 

 

“Then one day, he pinned me down on my bed and…and took things I never wanted him to have. Riko… _raped_ me.” he stutters on the word. A word he’s never said out loud before.It burns to speak it but he keeps going, needs someone else to carry these secrets with him. 

 

“Nearly every day, since the year I turned fourteen, he would come to my room. Or shove me in a shower stall in the locker room. Or push me down on the court in front of the rest of the team. He just kept taking things from me, hurting me. I couldn’t live with it anymore. I was…I was going to kill myself after finals. If Renee hadn’t done what she’d done, I would have slit my wrists just to be free of it all.”

 

Silence follows his confession. 

Jean had thought he’d be afraid after setting down so many secrets, but instead he feels an overwhelming sense of freedom. All of the words belong to Rhemann now too, not just Jean. 

 

“Jesus Christ, kid.” Rhemann says, carding a hand through Jean’s hair, pressing his lips against Jean’s temple. Jean lets his eyes slip closed, let’s his head fall back against Rhemann’s shoulder. If he concentrates, he can feel the ghost of Maman’s lips on his temple too.

 

“I didn’t want him to take those things from me. I didn’t want him to I swear, Coach, I swear.” Jean whispers, feeling the tears well up once more. He clutches Rhemann’s arms, clinging to him like a dying man reaching for his last breath. 

 

“I know kid, I know. It’s alright. You’re gonna be alright.” Rhemann says. “I promise you, I promise that you’re safe here. You’re safe with me. You’re safe with this team. We’re your family now so let us love you.”

And just like that, Jean is sobbing again.

They stay like that for a long, long time but Rhemann’s grip never falters.

—

When Jean returns to the dorm that night, he and Jeremy lie awake in the dark.

“I thought…I thought you were going to hit Alvarez this morning at practice. And I don’t…I don’t want punishment to be the first thing I think of on the court anymore.” Jean confesses. 

The room is silent after that but the next morning, Jeremy brushes his fingers against Jean’s as he hands him his bowl of oatmeal and Jean knows that Jeremy understood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I have to share with you that I interviewed for a teaching position and it went really well. So to celebrate, here's a beast of a chapter that gave me many feelings!
> 
> The next few chapters are so much happier, I promise! And by happy, I mean we start the arc of Jeremy and Jean falling head over heels. So prepare you hearts for softness and many warm feelings!


	13. Mama Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rhemann seeks out some advice.

 

When her youngest son shows up unannounced on Saturday morning, Eryn Rhemann immediately knows that something is wrong. Charlie is the most considerate of her children. He sends cards on every holiday, calls her twice a week, always schedules his visits, and never forgets to email her pictures of his team from every away game. But standing on her doorstep with nothing more than a backpack, he looks tired and defeated. Almost sickly. So she does the only thing that will cure the afflictions of life. 

 

She cooks chicken noodle soup. 

 

They eat it out of steaming mugs on the back patio that Charlie sanded down and stained the summer before. Most of the home had been privy to the gentle coaxing of her son’s craftwork at some point in the past five years since her husband passed. The crown molding, spare bedroom closet door, kitchen cabinets, and the main floor’s bathroom had all been refurbished. She had protested the cost, only to be met with a _mama, what is the point of a Class I Coach salary if I can’t make this house as beautiful as the woman who raised me in it?_ And that had been the end of that. Kindness had always been at the center of Charlie’s moral compass. 

 

She waits until they’ve settled on the living room couch with peppermint tea before she levels him with a steady look. She doesn’t need to pry the problem out of him. He wouldn’t have come to her if he hadn’t needed to confide it.

He tells her of their new backliner, Jean. The bruises, the food issues, the illiteracy. He tells her of how Jean had tried to pleasure Rhemann, convinced that punishment was how he had to earn his place at USC.He tells her of Jean’s anger and grief, the grief that plagues someone who had expected to die and instead ended up with a second chance. He tells her that he doesn’t know how to help the boy, can’t figure out how to show Jean that he only wants him to be happy at USC. He can’t doesn’t know how to comfort a boy who has never known a gentle touch, can’t figure out how to teach a boy who has only ever been taught in violence. He cannot look at Jean without wanting to burn down the entirety of Edgar Allen. He wants this boy to eat, sleep, smile, laugh, _live_.

 

And as she watches her son recount the horrors of Jean’s life, she can’t help but remember the day Charlie had shown up at her door with his social worker, carrying nothing more than a trash bag full of clothes and a single Peter Pan book. He had come to her ten years old but with the body mass of a seven year old, the bruises of a cage fighter, and the weariness of a soldier. Charlie had been so angry, so terrified of everything around him. He shook in fear when she offered him lunch, fled any room that her husband, Marion, had dared to enter. He yelled at his sisters when they tried to include him in their games. He had wet the bed, screamed through nightmares, and ran away twice before he ever considered the option of staying put in their house. 

 

But slowly, so slowly it ached, he had warmed to them. And it seemed that one day he was a frightened boy and the next he was an teenager who called them Mama and Dad, thanked them for lunch, took up Exy and French club, and only had nightmares once a month. Then he was a high school graduate, a college graduate, a fellowship awardee. Then he was an alcoholic, then a recovered alcoholic, and then a coach. But always, always, he had been her son. Her son, so filled with love and light, that she could easily see how this Jean would steal into his heart so subtly that he didn’t even realize that his love for the boy was the reason he was sitting on her couch, lamenting his shortcomings as a coach. Oh, she can see it, how much her son loves this Jean. She can see it in the way his eyes well up when he speaks of the boy’s bruised face in baggage claims, in the way that his voice stutters over the word _property_ , in the way his hand shakes when he recounts how Jean had gone to his knees in his office, convinced that sexual punishment was appropriate for a flaw on the court. 

 

She considers him, the grey pallor of his skin, the bags beneath his eyes, before taking his hands in hers to stop their fidgeting. 

 

“Charlie,” she says, corners of lips quirked up in a not quite smile. “the only thing that you need to provide this boy with is consistency and a home. You know how to do both of those. So why are you sitting on my couch when you should be with your boy?”

 

“He’s not my boy, mama.” Charlie says, light returned to his eyes.

 

“Hm,” she hums, before ushering him off to his old room, telling him it’s too late to drive back and promising pancakes for breakfast. When she bids him farewell the next day, she knows that he’ll be back. After all, she had always expected Charlie to bring home children. She just hadn’t expected them to be eighteen years old and French. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you all thought I wasn't going to give you quality content on Rhemann becoming Jean's father figure, then think again.


	14. Author's Note

My lovely readers,

This isn't actually a chapter update. 

As everyone knows, I'm usually pretty high speed with updating because I love my summer sons and I have so much of this story planned that it needs to be written and shared. Your comments get me through the day and I felt like I owed it to you to explain what will be a short absence from this story. My mom was killed by a drunk driver this weekend and I find myself unable to be anything but a grieving daughter this week because let me tell you, the sadness that comes with the police showing up at your door to do a notification call at 1am is something I hope that no one has to ever experience. 

And I beg all of you to be careful out there in the world. Don't drink and drive. Tell the people you care about that you love them. Spend everyday treasuring the little moments. This life is so fleeting, so temporary in scope. My hope for you all is that you embrace all that makes you happy, allow your sadness to make you stronger, and live a life as pure and fulfilling as you are able. 

So I'm going to take this week to grieve and process what's happened. But I promise that I'll be back next week because if there's anything I've learned in my short 24 years on this earth, it's that hiding away from the world will fix nothing. 

On a lighter and purely coincidental note, the person in charge of the auto claim for my mom's accident is actually named (this is not a lie and I swear I totally didn't snort a laugh when he told me this) Andrew Minyard. Same spelling and everything (I definitely clarified the spelling twice, btw). Which made my entire day a little brighter and made me think of this story and your lovely comments. So I'll see you all in a week with a substantial chapter in which we learn more about Jean's Maman (because I'm going to have even more content and an even bigger soft spot for Jean's mom, for obvious reasons), the Trojans return to Exy with a terrifying fierceness, and the amazing mess of a Trojan birthday party gives our two favorite lovebirds an opportunity to put logic aside and act solely on their mutual desires. 

 

Until next week,

Mal xoxo

 


	15. Barter Away Your Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the past lays the groundwork for the future.

_They meet in a small cafe downtown._

_The driver drops her off at the curb, Mistress roughly pushing her out of the car when the fear makes her hesitate. Her dress billows around her ankles as she makes her way towards the man in the grey suit. He is handsome; pale skin, dark brown eyes that glisten when he laughs. He leads her through the city after they finish their coffee. He is well spoken; French, English, and her native Italian. He uses his words to caress her fear away. The stars glitter above them and if she forgets that the word arranged proceeds the word marriage, it almost feels like a real love story. When he draws her in by her waist and kisses the breath from her lungs, she lets go of who she was and become who she needs to be now._

_Marisol Moreau._

_—_

_Life is filled with beautiful things when one is the wife of a Moreau._

_Vacations by the sea, designer gowns that draw stares at galas, luxurious silk linens that swish as he ravages her body. Their home sits in the center of Paris, across from a lovely park. Children’s laughter drifts through their open windows in the late afternoon._

_It is perfect except in all of the way that it is not._

_He is both kind and cruel. His words are sharp but his tongue caresses her gently. His hands are quick to bite but his apologies fall sweetly from his lips. He is both the man of her dreams and the monster of her nightmares. She has nowhere to hide, nor the strength to run. She allows him his liberties and comforts herself with the knowledge that her sisters back home have endured far worse. She comforts herself with the fact that she is alive and that her only cost of living is to surrender her flesh to his fists and her body to his manhood._

_—_

_The voices that drift from underneath his office door leave no room for her to be ignorant of what actions occur to provide her with the luxuries of her life._

_She is quiet, not stupid._

_There is a closet in the hallway that is filled with knives. There is a room in the basement where the screams of men and women echo. There are Moriyama’s men and her husband’s grey suited body guards and the occasional American. There is a struggle between the Mexican cartel and the Italian mob to control a shipping lane in the South China sea. There are Somali pirates who raid civilian boats simply because her husband commands it to be so. There are transcontinental arms deals that are negotiated in their living room. They entertain foreign dignitaries, spies, religious extremists, and dictators. She plays the dutiful wife; sensual, intelligent, witty.She lets her beauty charm points with her husbands business partners. She lets her body be the dotted line up which these men sign. She does all of this and is allowed to live._

_But she isn’t stupid._

_There is an entire network of crime and she knows all of the intricate details. If she wanted to burn this house down, all she would have to do is take herself down to the Italian consulate, prove her citizenship, and cash in on her list of secrets. She thinks of it often. But she neverseriously considers the possibility until she gazes down at the pink lines of the pregnancy test._

 

_—_

_Her son._

_Her son._

_The first time she holds him in her arms, it as though the heavens had burst open and poured the entirety of God’s grace into her arms. She names him after her grandfather and cashes in every chip she has tokeep him away from his father. The unspoken agreement lies somewhere between the curve of her body and the number of foreign deals those curves produce for her husband. It’s worth it. Every single one of those encounters is worth it._

_Because Jean is her son and he is as beautiful as he is smart. Hazel eyes, dark curls, pale skin. Never ending questions and compassion. He is nothing like his father and she weeps with happiness every time he tells her that he loves her._

_He is her reason for living. Every breath she draws, every punch she shoulders, every hand that caresses her thigh under the dinner table at her husband’s meetings is to keep Jean safe._

_He is her greatest joy and her greatest mistake._

_Because she might love Jean, but she knew that she would never be allowed to keep him._

_—_

_She has no choice but to give him up._

_There is no stopping the theft of her son. There is only the hope that one day, she might get him back._

_So as soon as her little bird passes from her view, she begins to plan._

_There is no fury greater than a mother scorned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for you comments.This past week has been really difficult and it's nice to know that there's something to come back to that is wholly unrelated to my grief. 
> 
> I have an entire storyline within this story (which will probably turn into a series, like who the hell am I even kidding here? I have way too many things to write for you guys for this to be one fic) that revolves around Rhemann's place as Jean's adopted dad and the fate of his mom. So stay tuned for that at an undetermined time in the future. 
> 
> Next chapter is halfway written and filled with all of the good JereJean. And I lowkey found a really creative way to give you all some smut in this next chapter while still maintaining respect for Jean's past and where he's at with his recovery. So prepare for that good content cause it's coming your way ;)


	16. Dance Your Way to Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean reclaims some of things that were taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter touches briefly on the aftermath of sexual assault. As always, proceed accordingly.
> 
> There also be consensual sex here so if that's not your thing, skip the last half of this chapter.

The Monday after Jean’s confession, Charlie Rhemann decides to hell with protocol and decides that something needs to give. So instead of meeting Jean at his office like they usually do for their reading lessons, he picks Jean up from his dorm. As Jean walks across the parking lot, clad in a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt, hair flopping messily over his forehead, Rhemann takes a second to appreciate how normal the kid looks. The bruises have faded, the pallor of his skin has taken on some color, and he’s gained a little weight. Rhemann isn’t a praying man, but he sends up a silent thank you for the ingenuity of his team in getting Jean to eat. 

 

“Hello, Coach.” Jean says, getting in the car and buckling his seatbelt as Charlie pulls out of the parking lot. 

 

“How’re you doing kid?” Charlie asks in response. He wants Jean to talk to him. What happened Friday was a start but one breakdown isn’t going to make Jean feel safe or wanted. He’s going to give Jean a home but first, he has to establish a basis of trust.

 

“I’m doing well. And you?” Jean says, fingers twitching to play with the hem of his shirt. Rhemann has noticed that his accent is thicker when he’s nervous, reverting back to formal phrases. 

 

And it’s the nervousness that makes Charlie decide that he’s not going to beat around the bush. 

 

“Listen kid, I know you’re probably feeling pretty vulnerable after what happened Friday. And I know that you don’t want to hear a big, long speech because words mean nothing. So I’m going to ask you to do one thing today, and every day you spend on this team.” Rhemann says, pausing briefly to make sure that Jean is listening. “I want you to stop trying to be what you think I need you to be. I want you to try your best to give me your opinion and your honesty. Do you think you can try to do that?”

 

“Yes, Coach.” answer Jean, with just a barely there hesitation. 

It’s a start. 

He stops short as some asshole decides to merge lanes.He automatically stretches on hand across the passenger side, pressing Jean back into his seat to avoid the jolt of motion.

 

“Asshole! Anyways, I figured we’d go on an adventure, shake things up a bit.” he says, flipping off the blue Prius that cut them off as he speeds up to pass them. He maneuvers them off of the freeway and onto an access road. He sees Jean nod his head out of the corner of his eye, tries to quell his disappointment in Jean’s silence. He makes a sharp right turn onto a side street, cuts his wheel to the left in order to parallel park on the street. Exiting the car, he trusts Jean to follow him across the parking lot, past a liquor store, and into the secret treasure of Charlie’s life. 

 

The bookstore is the most beautiful place Charlie had ever accidentally discovered. Two storieshigh and filled to the brim with shelf upon shelf of books, it smells of worn spines and adventure. One look at Jean’s awed face is enough to convince Charlie that he made the right choice. He’d go to bat with Edgar Allen over Jean’s contract a hundred times over if it meant getting to see the glow of shock and flush of pleasure on Jean’s face as he takes in the sight before him. 

He places a hand on Jean’s lower back, something like pride making itself known when Jean doesn’t flinch back from his touch. He leads Jean down a few aisles, a smile creasing his lips as he watches Jean reverently run his hands across several of the book spines. There’s no mistaking the longing look of love and desire in Jean’s eyes.

 

They spend a few hours roaming the isles. Charlie points out his favorite books, reads passages from novels too long in length for Jean’s current skill level, tells Jean of how he wandered into this bookstore looking for the liquor store next door. He tells Jean how Emily Dickinson saved his life, helped pry the bottle out of his hands. He tells Jean about hope being the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all. 

He tells Jean about times that he was imperfect and flawed, but also makes sure that Jean knows that Rhemann had learned that his mistakes do not make him _less than_. Jean listens to everything Rhemann says, not saying a word in return. 

 

But Charlie can tell that Jean just _understands_. He understands what it’s like to be dealt a shitty hand, to feel cornered by forces beyond your control, to want to live but not know how. Rhemann doesn’t know where Jean’s parents are, but he can’t imagine the type of person who could give a boy like this up. Because he’s nothing but light and curiosity and kindness, though the world has never seen fit to treat him with anything but cruelty. Charlie would burn the entire world down for this kid if it meant the return of the beautiful smile that Jean graces him with when he hands him a book of poems and promises that he’ll be able to read them by the end of the school year. 

 

They’re halfway back to campus before Jean speaks, thumbs tracing the words on the cover of the book Rhemann had purchased for him before leaving. 

 

“I wanted to be a bird when I was younger.” Jean says suddenly, eyes distant. “I thought…I thought that if I had wings, I could be free. It was a silly thought.” he scoffs a laugh, face coloring in embarrassment. “But if I had wings back then, I never would have ended up here.”

 

The car is silent for a few moments before Jean continues.

 

“What I’m trying to say is thank you. For today. And everything.” It’s stilted and awkward, yet no less genuine. And in that moment, Charlie Rhemann feels his heart tether itself to the happiness of the young man beside him. 

 

—

Jean goes to therapy every other day after practice. Dr. McFarren listens carefully as Jean stutters his way through the burning shame of his experiences in the Nest, the numbness and wanting to die, the fear of being rejected by the Trojans when they learn who he is on the inside. He goes to therapy and practices with the team and watches movies with them on Friday night. The week before the semester starts, Jeremy takes him to Target and together they buy school supplies. Jean has a new backpack, notebooks, and a dozen pens and pencils. When Jeremy hands Jean his stuff out of the cart to put on the conveyer belt, their fingers brush together. Jean catches the corners of Jeremy’s lips twitch as he pulls his hand back, gracing the back of Jean’s hand with another warm press of fingers. Jean has never felt more like a person than he does in the middle of the checkout lane. 

—

“Fuck you Rose! There’s room for both of you on that fucking thing!” Alvarez shouts, throwing popcorn at the tv. Laila laughs, craning her neck to kiss the scowl off of her girlfriend’s face. 

 

“Is she always like this?” Jean whispers to Jeremy from his spot on the couch. 

 

“Every single time.” Jeremy whispers back, eye alight with mirth. 

They’re curled up on the couch in their usual Friday movie night positions. Jeremy had given Jean a box of Gobstoppers, Jean had given Jeremy half of his blue Gatorade, and the warmth between them is palpable even to Jean, who can admit even on his worst day that emotions aren’t his strong suite. 

 

He just..doesn’t know what to do about it. 

 

But as always, Jeremy gets there first, anticipating what Jean needs before Jean gets a clue. As Alvarez continues to throw popcorn at the screen, Jeremy reaches his hand across the cushion between them, palm up, waiting. Jean looks from the upturned palm to the glow in Jeremy’s eyes and decides that this is where he wants to be. He slowly reaches his hand across the cushion to meet Jeremy halfway. They finish out the movie with their bodies a cushion apart but their hands twined together. 

 

—

_Text Message: Laila Dermott_

_Wear the green sweater tonight. It’s Jeremy’s favorite._

 

_Text Message: Jean Moreau_

_I have no idea what you’re talking about._

 

_Text Message: Laila Dermott_

_Mhm, sure Moreau ;)_

 

—

 

A renovated basement art studio become dingy bar, _Synth_ is everything a college student would look for in a night out. Cheap alcohol, lit only by the sparse neon strobes above, and a mass of nameless bodies trying to crawl inside each other’s skin in the name of dancing. Jean likes it. It’s too dark for anyone to recognize him. Tonight he’s just a normal college student out with his group of friends. The ability to blend in makes him think bold thoughts, like asking Jeremy to dance. 

 

Penny and Galaxy go to the bar to order drinks while the rest of them shove tables and chairs together in some semblance of order in the back of the bar. Drinks are passed around, something bright blue ending up in Jean’s hands. He takes a tentative sip, expecting it to burn like the few rum and Coke’s he’s had in the past, but is pleasantly surprised at how sweet it tastes. They’re all finishing their first round when the DJ announces that it’s time for everyone to get their asses on the dance floor and grind like they mean it. It’s crass, but effective. The tables occupying the space around them slowly empty alongside their own. 

 

The alcohol makes his fear slip away, just enough that when Jeremy asks Jean if he wants to dance, Jean nods and takes his proffered hand. He lets himself be drawn through the crowd of gyrating bodies. The song changes, something with a low bass. It thrums through Jean’s feet, tingles up his spine, pounds in time to his heart. Jeremy guides Jean against him gently- always so gentle with Jean’s body and his feelings- and moves them in time with the music. There are people pressed against them but Jean only feels the heat from Jeremy’s body. 

 

They’re matched in height so Jean spins so that his back is to Jeremy’s front, pulls Jeremy’s hands so that they rest on his slim hips, gyrates them in a counter-rhythm. He’s drunk not on alcohol but on the smell of Jeremy’s cologne that Jean had watched him dab on before they left for the evening. Jean takes control, shows Jeremy what he thinks he likes, how he thinks he likes it. He wants to be surrounded by nothing but Jeremy so he pulls his arms around, slides one of Jeremy’s hands to rest on his lower belly and the other on his clavicle. Finger twitch to the beat, tapping along Jean’s collarbone and across to his shoulder. 

 

Jean is lost in it, intoxicated by this boy who exudes sunshine and kindness, even in the dark of the club. Jean twines them together until he doesn’t know where he ends and Jeremy begins. And Jeremy follows, trusting Jean to know what he wants. Never taking, always asking permission, hoping Jean will let him in but never demanding that he does.Jean can feel how close they are, relishes the solid weight of Jeremy’s chest against his back and the breath ghosting against his ear. 

 

“You’re beautiful, Jean.” Jeremy says, words only Jean can hear. He lets them sink into his skin, nestle between his ribs like they’ve always lived there. He tips his head back against Jeremy’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around Jeremy’s neck, fingers closing gently around the hair at the nape. He turns his head to nuzzle at Jeremy’s neck, his ear, his jaw. Jeremy brushes his lips against the side of Jean’s temple.

 

Jean is warm and safe and he _wants_.

 

“I want you to kiss me.” he whispers.

 

And Jeremy does.

He turns Jean around so they’re chest to chest again, cradles his cheek in one hand and lets the other settle on Jean’s lower back, pushes him so close that the only thing that separates them is a breath. His mouth is warm and experienced and the most wrenchingly beautiful thing that Jean has ever touched. He lets Jeremy lead, lets his mouth be coaxed open to be devoured. Jeremy tastes like sunlight feels- warm and light and everything, everything Jean has ever dreamed of wanting.A tongue slips past his lips and Jean moans into the pressure. He’s heady with pleasure, can feel it buzzing under his skin. Time slips past, narrows into nothing but the feel of Jeremy’s lips of his, the dance of their tongue, the soft suction as Jeremy pulls his bottom lip between his own, a slight nip as he pulls away. Jean stifles a groan, tries to get Jeremy to come back. He has to taste, has to draw the sunshine into his mouth, has to chase after it with his entire being. Jeremy laughs before placing a few chaste kisses around Jean’s lips, his eyes, his nose. He settles his lips on Jean’s forehead and some of Jean’s passion abates in the intimacy of the moment. They spend a moment breathing each other in, letting the music filter back, space and time returning to their rightful place. Jean slowly open his eyes and is met with Jeremy’s iridescent smile. Jean chases the smile with his lips, carding his fingers through Jeremy’s hair, joining in his jubilant and incredulous laughter. 

 

If the whole team stares at them as the leave the club, hand in hand, it doesn’t matter. They only have eyes for each other. 

—

It only takes fifteen minutes to make it back to their dorm. By the time Jeremy unlocks the door and tugs Jean inside, the buzz of the alcohol is long gone. They stand there in the living room, Jeremy breaking the silence with an awkward laugh, scuffing his foot agains the floor. Jean likes the rose colored blush creeping up Jeremy’s neck and without much thought, he bends his head the chase after it. He sucks gently above the pulse point, licks away the taught pull of the skin beneath his lips, and moves on to leave a trail of kisses up, up, up until their lips meet once more. 

 

They move together towards the bedroom and by unspoken agreement, they end up on Jeremy’s bed. Jean wants to be as far away from Riko as he can be. He wants to be surrounded by nothing but the feel and smell of Jeremy and himself. He wants his body and his mind to belong to this moment and this moment alone. They lie down next to each other, their front meeting to create a delicious friction that causes Jean to moan softly. Jeremy swallows it down, greedy for the lovely sounds that Jean is making. Jean brushes his lips against Jeremy’s, a chaste press, before drawing back and opening his eyes. Jeremy’s gaze is flushed with desire and Jean is suddenly overcome with a near debilitating sense of shame. 

 

His body has been to all of these places, used in so many ways, that there’s no way that he can let Jeremy touch something so dirty. He feels the panic creeping up and draws his hands away from Jeremy, scooting himself far enough away that there is a fair amount of space between their bodies.

 

“Jean, are you alright?” Jeremy asks, not moving a muscle to close the distance between them. 

 

And Jean wants nothing more than to laugh because he is so far from okay. His body is standing on the precipice of flight and pleasure. He wants to feel good but he doesn’t think he can handle Jeremy touching him. But he also thinks he might die if Jeremy doesn’t touch him.

 

“I want..I need..” Jean pants, failing to find the words.

 

“Hey, it’s alright Jean. It’s alright to want something.” Jeremy soothes.

 

Jean breathes in and out, until his brain and his body reconnect.

 

“I want to feel good but I don’t…I don’t want you to touch me.” he whispers, every word dripping from his mouth like betrayal. _Weak. So Weak._

 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I can work with that.”

 

“You..what?”

 

“I said, I can work with that.”

 

Jean stares at Jeremy like he’s spontaneously grown another head.

 

“Do you trust me?”

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

 

“Yes.”

“Then just..follow me, okay?”

_I think I’d follow you anywhere._

 

“Close your eyes and just, listen to my voice okay Jean?”

 

So Jean does. He closes his eyes and he just let’s himself follow Jeremy, trusts this sunshine boy to get him where he needs to be. He listens as Jeremy tells him to wind a hand up his chest, tease gently at his ribs and then his nipples. It feels strange, to touch himself like that. Riko had never made him feel good without hurting him first and Jean had never thought to touch himself like this before. 

 

“I want you to feel good Jean. Do you want to feel good?”

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

 

He lets his heady gaze fall open to see Jeremy watching him intently, his own hand mirroring the position of Jean’s own. And suddenly, it clicks. They’re going to get there, together yet apart. And just like that, it seems so simple. He nods, closes his eyes once more, and let’s himself just _feel_.

 

He lets his left hand slide down the waistband of his jeans, uses his right hand to undo the button and zipper. He shimmies his hips just enough to get the leverage to gently take himself in his hand. He’s half hard already, the memory of Jeremy’s lips enough to fuel his desire. 

 

“I like to start slow. Up and down, yes, just like that Jean. You’re so good baby, so good. Keep going.”

 

And he does. He lets his hands roam over his body as though he’s never touched it before. There’s a spot right between his thigh and hip that makes him moan. He likes the slow tug of his hand on his cock, the friction on the upstroke, the slow pulse of the rhythm.

 

He like that Jeremy is close but not touching, likes that his voice is getting Jean exactly where he needs to be. Jean begins to reclaim his body somewhere between a caress down his ribcage and Jeremy’s hitched breathing. Pleasure prickles across his skin and he tightens his grip on himself, matching the pace of Jeremy’s voice. He bucks up into his hand, moaning quietly at the shock of his release. It overwhelms him, so much so that he spends a while floating in the silence of the afterglow. When he comes back down, he realizes two things; he’s crying, tears streaming silently down his face, and Jeremy, at some point, had also come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a mother of a chapter for being patient while I grieve. I'm still really sad but writing some happy JereJean makes me feel better so I think updates will go back to be high speed. 
> 
> Next chapter is the start of the semester, which includes Jean participating in his first group project, more reading lessons, the start of the Exy season, and our boys getting to do cute couple shit that makes Alvarez gag (but she secretly loves and everyone knows it but she'll never admit it out loud). 
> 
> Just like a side note, plot wise, this story will extend through the end of Jean's first year at USC. We're almost halfway through the plot of this particular story. I've got a sequel (or two) planned out because I need my sunshine boys to have the happiest, most fulfilling future.


	17. Infinite Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which school begins and Jean learns to live an average life.

When Jeremy wakes, it’s to the sight of Jean Moreau curled up in bed next to him. With a satisfied sigh, Jeremy lets his mind drift back to the night before; the way Jean had felt against him on the dance floor, the weight of their hands as they walked back home, the soft moans of Jean’s pleasure. The anxiety that is always buzzing around Jeremy’s head is blessedly absent as he lets himself be calmed by the memory. It’s their last Sunday before the semester starts and it feels so good to lie in bed next to this beautiful boy and pretend like the world doesn’t exist. 

 

Jeremy stretches slightly, letting his eyes roam over Jean; the crooked fingers pressed against his mouth, the stark outline of the tattoo on his cheekbones, the small but jagged scar that runs along the middle of his hairline. Jean’s face is smooth in repose, free of the constant crinkle of his brow that accompanies him during the daylight hours. They had made their way back into their clothes before falling asleep, but despite the lack of nudity, there is an intimacy in this. It shimmers in the light of the dawn, curls between them unspoken and soft, lending itself to a moment of promise rather than hesitancy. 

 

Jeremy reaches a hand forward to brush a comma of hair from Jean’s forehead, tracing his fingers down the side of Jean’s face to settle his thumb against lips that hush out soft breaths. 

Jean flutters awake at Jeremy’s gentle touch, a small smile flitting across his face. He runs his thumb across Jean’s lower lip soothingly, suppressing a shudder when Jean kisses the fingertips, molasses slow, as though his brain hasn’t quite caught up to his body. Sleepy hazel eyes blink owlishly awake and Jeremy can pinpoint the exact moment that Jean’s mind catches him up on the events of last night. He feels Jean tense minutely, the furrow in his brow making a swift but predictable appearance. Jeremy can feel Jean preparing to bolt and can’t help himself as he blurts out, “Don’t do that, don’t shrink back into yourself. It’s alright.”

 

What is meant to soothe, instead brings an anger to Jean’s face that Jeremy can tell is borne of fear but still stings as the walls come back up.

 

“Jean, it’s okay, please stay.”

 

But Jean is already off the bed and tugging on his shoes. Jeremy is close enough to the bed that when he reaches out a hand to grasp Jean’s wrist, to keep him from running off when he’s afraid and not thinking clearly, he can feel the way Jean flinches. But Jeremy doesn’t want Jean to run away from his new life just because he’s terrified to have good things happen to him. Jean’s pulse is rapid under Jeremy’s fingers, his wrist trembling so minutely that if Jeremy didn’t have it clasped between his thumb and forefinger, he never would have known. 

 

“It’s alright to want this Jean. It’s alright to _want_.” he pleads, praying that Jean will just get back into bed and decide that he can trust Jeremy with whatever secrets he’s trying to keep.

 

“I _want_ you to let me _go_.” Jean lies, making no attempt to remove Jeremy’s grasp.

 

And it occurs to Jeremy that Jean has not asked for a single things since he came to USC.

 

Until now. 

 

So he lets Jean go and tries his best not to cry when the only company to be had is the 

slam of the door as it reverberates across the empty dorm.

—

Jean runs until he decides that he doesn’t actually want to run.

 

But he has nowhere else to go so even though he doesn’t want to run, he keeps going. The blood is pounding in his ears, matching the hard thump of his sneakered feet on the ground. It’s early and he’s veered off the pavement to sprint through the woods adjacent to campus.

 

He’s so incredibly angry at himself. And confused. and hurt. And everything inside of him aches with how much he _wants_ Jeremy. He wants to crawl back in Jeremy’s bed and tell him that he’s sorry. He wants Jeremy to touch him, gently, like he did last night while they were dancing. He wants to kiss Jeremy and touch Jeremy and touch himself and be normal, for _once_. 

 

Because being normal would mean that he would have woken up this morning and just been able to lie in the stillness of the moment instead of running away like a coward. The brief flash of pain and understanding that had crossed Jeremy’s expression in the face of Jean’s misplaced anger was enough to prove that Riko hadn’t been able to carve the heart out of Jean’s chest. God, did seeing that expression on Jeremy’s face shake Jean to his core. 

 

Riko might not have burned the heart out of Jean, but he had managed to take up residence in his head; cruel and unforgiving, a nastiness that sounds something like _he let you go, he doesn’t want you, who could want you, who would want what has already been taken by so many?_

 

It’s a constant, biting stream of malicious truth. There was never a time in the Nest when Jean believed that he was going to live a life that was not controlled by Riko. He never thought his body and what happened to it mattered because it never belonged to Jean. Riko had taken whatever he had wanted, whenever he wanted, and however he wanted. Jean had accepted that his body wasn’t his, he didn’t have a future, and that he would one day be nothing more than a dead boy who used to be skilled at Exy. 

 

But God, if Jeremy doesn’t make Jean want to feel and do and be and _live._ It’s changing all of the rules because Jean wants to hate Jeremy for changing the terms of survival but he finds that he just can’t. Because now, with the rays of sunshine just glancing off of the tips of his fingers he wishes, for the first time since he learned that no amount of sorrow or rebellion would save him, that the darkness had never touched him. How could anyone ever want such a broken thing?

 

Except…Jeremy had wanted him. Last night on the dance floor and later. 

 

_He let you go._

 

But…Jean had asked to be let go and Jeremy…Jeremy had done exactly as Jean had asked. 

 

_I want you to kiss me. I want to feel good. I don’t want you to touch me. I want you to let me go._

 

And just like that, Jean knows exactly what Jeremy has been trying to tell him this whole time. 

—

When Jean gets back to their dorm, he’s greeted with the sight of a rumpled Jeremy sitting at their dining room table with half a grilled cheese hanging from his mouth, trying to pour a glass of milk. It would be completely normal except that the second Jean walks in, Jeremy looks up in surprise, mouth falling open. The sandwich plunks down onto the half full glass causing it to tip over, the contents spilling rapidly across the table. 

 

“Oh shit, goddamn it, fuck.” Jeremy shouts, scrambling for the napkin holder. His flailing knocks the holder over into the open milk carton which flips onto its side to join the glass. There are rivulets of milk cascading down onto the floor. Jeremy is holding a sopping mess of napkins uselessly in the air, milk dripping down his upheld arm, and he’s wearing a stunned, slightly betrayed expression. It’s just so genuinely ridiculous that Jean can’t help the laughter that bubbles up inside of him because never in his life did he think he would be standing in the middle of a dorm in California laughing over spilled milk.

 

He laughs and he laughs and he laughs, until his laughter becomes something closer to tears. 

 

And just like always, Jeremy knows exactly what Jean needs because there is a warm hand on the small of his back turning him into the solid presence that is completely and utterly _Jeremy_. There is no Riko here, just Jeremy who is rubbing small circles across the planes of Jean’s shoulders.Jean turns his face to press against the side of Jeremy’s neck. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ he whispers into the warm skin. Jeremy continues to hold him, a solid and immovable protection, and as Jean calms, he feels the familiar hum of _tell him, tell him, tell him._

 

So he takes Jeremy’s hand, draws him back under the covers of the bed, and tucks himself against his chest. There, in the safety of their cocoon and the heat of their shared breaths, Jean tells Jeremy almost everything. He tells him about the Nest and being property and not being allowed to eat. He tells Jeremy about his Maman and the razor blade he kept in his backpack and how he loves Exy but hate the circumstances in which he learned to love it. He tells Jeremy about church and confessions, how afraid he was when he left France, how he wanted to die until coming to USC gave him a reason to live. And finally, he tells Jeremy about all of the things that Riko took that Jean never wanted him to have, about how dirty he feels, but how much he wants Jeremy even though he is so, so terrified of wanting and being wanted back.

 

And afterwards, Jeremy draws Jean’s face level with his own and placessweet, gentle, tear streaked kisses across his eyes, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips,before holding him close enough to make the past seem very, very far away. 

 

 

—

 

 

_Text Message: Coach_

_Have a good first day of classes. I’ll see you at 3. Don’t forget to bring your chapter book._

 

_Text Message: Penny_

_Have a fantastic first day! Remember, nothing can go wrong when you’re wearing your lucky nail polish._

 

_Text Message: Galaxy_

_Meet me between your afternoon classes for coffee?_

 

_Text Message: Alvarez_

_Kick ass in class today Moreau!_

 

_Text Message: Laila_

_Have a great morning! See you in Bio later!_

 

_Text Message: Wilkins_

_I want to hear all about your first day after practice!_

 

_Text Message: Jeremy_

_You’re going to be amazing today Jean. I’ll see you at practice!_

 

_Text Message: Renee Walker_

_Remember to breathe. I’m a phone call away if you need me._

—

Coach Rhemann must have pulled off some sort of administrative miracle because Jean has four, one hour lectures this semester that meet every day, Monday through Thursday. He has two in the morning and two in the afternoon, with a break for lunch and a break between practice. It’s so much easier to sit through an hour lecture than the grueling three hour, twice a week classes at Edgar Allen where he didn’t know how to read the textbook and had to rely solely on what the professors said in order to learn anything. Jeremy had helped him map out the way to all of his classes last week so he’s on time and able to find a seat in the far corner of each of his classes. 

 

There are no textbooks for these classes, another Rhemann produced miracle. Instead, there are just verbal lectures and his own note taking. He jots everything down in French, relishing in the freedom to use the language of his choice, of the weight of his pen on notebook paper, of the pride that worms its way into his heartwhen he has to participate in first day introductions and doesn’t stumble over his name in anxiety. The first day of school is going pretty well and for a moment, as he walks across the quad to meet Galaxy for coffee (because somehow, his break lines up with the reminders from his watch) he feels as though he belongs here.

—

 

Jean’s English professor is everything that Jean thinks a professor is _not_ supposed to be. Below average height but above average musculature, Professor Metz shows up to class ten minutes late wearing worn sandals, dress pants, and a t-shirt that is at least two sizes too tight. He writes the date and the day’s subject in crisp letters on a chalkboard, ignoring the whiteboard and overhead projector. 

 

There’s only ten students in this class so he has them draw their chairs together in a circle, says something about physical proximity and Socratic discussions. Jean isn’t sure what that means but he finds that being in a circle with nine other people doesn’t unnerve him as much as being backed into a corner of a classroom so maybe, Socratic discussions are something he’ll be good at. 

 

“Alright, as you know I’m Professor Metz, you can call me Metz because adding the professor in front is pretentious. I’m not doing introductions because nobody wants to stand up and talk about themselves in front of a room full of strangers.” Metz begins, pacing a slow path on the inside of the circle of desks. He twirls a pen in his left hand and Jean finds himself watching the rhythmic flip, counting the turns in order to calm himself. This is his last class of the day and the only one that has to do with words, which Jean loves but knows he doesn’t have the skills to master. 

 

“We all seek to understand the universe through language. It is the nuances of speech and body movement that connect us to each other in the ways that most impact the world. That’s what we’ll be studying this semester. How is the human condition conveyed through language and how do we use language to make the world a better place.”

 

Metz turns to the chalkboard and writes _Infinite language, infinite possibility._

 

“I want you all to think on what this means and come to class tomorrow ready to discuss your version of infinite. Now that’s enough for our first day. Get the hell out of here and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

And just like that, Jean’s first day of class is complete. 

 

—

Coach’s office has a new chair in it. It’s yellow and squishy and it belongs to Jean. Coach told him so, in his own direct and gruff way, when Jean appeared for their reading lesson after English Lit. It’s easier to accept things from Coach, now that they both hold Jean’s secrets. So he sits in his new chair and reads his book while Coach does paperwork. The quiet is nothing but companionable and it eases something in Jean’s chest when his watch beeps and Coach casually reaches into a drawer in his desk to toss Jean a granola bar. Jean slowly tears open the wrapper and thinks about how he survived his first day of class, his first two months with the Trojans, the last eighteen years of the Nest. He feels bold, thinking of his small successes, so much so that he dares to smile just the barest bit as he eats. 

 

—

 

The crackling static of Jeremy’s nightly Skype call with his mom drifts from underneath their closed bedroom door. Jean lets the comforting sound of Jeremy’s voice settle against him as he lets his mug of tea steep. They’ve only been doing whatever they’ve been doing for a week, but it feels as though they’ve known each other forever, as though all that came before Jeremy was just a test in order to earn his rewards. Jeremy’s voice is clear as day through the dorm as he tells his mom about Jean. He uses words like beautiful and kind and talented. He doesn’t use words like broken and dirty and used.

 

Jean is sure that if Maman were alive, he would tell her all about Jeremy as well. He would tell her that he is all golden skin, kind smiles, and bright eyes. He would tell her that he makes Jean feel like he has wings because he has never felt so free. He would tell her that they eat breakfast together and hold hands and that his kisses taste like the slivers of sunlight through a closed window feel. He would tell her about dancing at the club and asking permission isntead of just taking. He would tell her that he is afraid that Jeremy will say run and afraid that Jeremy will stay. He would tell her that he never pictured a future for himself but here, in this moment, he envisions one where he gets to live a life that blossoms. He sees a college diploma, an Exy career, a retirement with children and a dog and a house that makes everyone who walks in the door feel as though they’ve come home. He would tell her that he knows he has a long way to go, that recovery isn’t stagnant or perfect, but that for once in his life he has the desire to continue on. He would tell her all of this and million things more and for a minute, Jean lets himself revel in the warmth that comes with possibility

 

—

“You told your mom about me.” Jena says that night, as they’re lying side by side in Jeremy’s bed.

 

“I..um..yeah. I just.. you don’t mind?” Jeremy stutters, a blush making its way across his cheeks, highlighting the spattering of freckles across his nose. He hates how red he turns every time he gets embarrassed, or flustered, or angry. 

 

“If my Maman was alive,” Jean whispers, drawing his fingertips across Jeremy’s cheekbones, “I would tell her about you too.” Jean moves his fingers to run across Jeremy’s lips. Jeremy draws one into his mouth, failing to swallow down the small moan the works its way up his throat. He rolls onto his back, let’s Jean straddle his thighs as he bend down to meet Jeremy’s lips.

 

For all of his fear, Jean is so genuinely curious and brave in their slow exploration of each otherthat it leaves Jeremy breathless. They kiss languidly, slow as molasses, learning each other all over again. Jeremy hums as Jean nibbles at his lower lips. He works his way down to his neck and across his collarbones, a light suction causing Jeremy to gasp. 

 

“I like it when you kiss me there.” he murmurs against Jean’s skin, trying valiantly to keep his breathing under control as Jean makes his way down. He lifts his arms as Jean tugs at the hem of his shirt, drawing it up over his head and tossing it to the floor. He runs his hands down Jeremy’s ribcage and from his vantage point, Jeremy can see the look of utter wonder that passes over Jean’s face before he bends back down to continue his exploration. Teeth scrape gently over his left nipple and Jeremy arches into it, moaning as Jean huffs a quiet laugh against his skin. Hot lips wander a path across to his other nipple, down his chest. A tongue dips into his belly button, quick and teasing, before drawing a strip of wetness back up his abdomen. Jeremy wants to touch, to feel, to caress. 

 

 

“Can I take your shirt off?” he asks, not making a move when he feels Jean hesitate. He waits Jean out, waits for him to make a decision. 

 

“It’s not..I’m not..I’m not pretty like you.” Jean says with a sad smile of acceptance, as though this is a burden of truth that he must live with. 

 

It’s said with so much shame, that Jeremy’s heart stutters to a stop. Because Jean Moreau is the most beautiful person Jeremy has ever laid eyes on and he wants to murder every person who ever touched Jean without asking, ever made him feel like his body is something that belonged to everyone but himself. 

 

And the fact that Jean can be here in bed, after a perfect first day of classes, and still be haunted by his past is so far beyond the realm of acceptable that it makes Jeremy want to burn the entire world to the ground. Jean deserves good things, like kindness and acceptance. 

 

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever met Jean Moreau. I don’t care if you never take you shirt off in front of me, you will still be the most beautiful person I know.” Jeremy says with so much conviction that Jean’s smile fades and his eyes widen. Jeremy’s heart lurches at the sight of Jean’s genuine surprise, as though he can’t believe Jeremy would call him beautiful. Jean’s mouth opens and closes a few times but no words come out. Jeremy doesn’t push it any further. He maneuvers them up and under the covers and holds Jean tight against his chest. 

Sometimes, you need to let the truth sink in. 

 

“Goodnight, beautiful.” Jeremy says against the back of Jean’s head.

 

“Goodnight.” comes the hesitant reply. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Getting back to life after tragedy has been a struggle and summer classes are a killer, but I've got the next chapter planned out and a little bit of free time this weekend so bear with me!
> 
> Also, I spontaneously adopted a kitten two days ago. Her name is Len McCoy and she's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me and I spend most of my time trying not to gush about her to every person I talk to. And now I'm convinced that our sunshine boys need a pet so...


	18. Hollowed Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a character arc begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with sexual assault and the effects thereof. Please proceed accordingly.

Life continues on.

Days pass, filled with practices, classes, and homework. Jean eats when his watch beeps, meets Galaxy for coffee in between lectures, and reads in Coach’s office. He signs a school petition to get more recycling bins near the quad and gets solid marks on his first few assignments. Therapy sessions continue and he learns new words like coping mechanisms, trauma, guilt. He starts practicing letting himself feel. When he’s frustrated, he goes to the gym and runs. When he’s sad, he cries. When he’s lonely, he seeks out one of his teammates. He learns that feeling does not mean punishment; it just means learning to be more human.

 

He kisses Jeremy goodnight before climbing into his own bed. There are boundaries in their relationship; shared spaces and separate spaces, appropriate conduct during practice, no touching without asking first. Respect, Jeremy says, is the basis for this thing between them. This wonderfully monogamous and lovely thing that pulses between them. Everything is adhering to the new normal of Jean’s life. Things are the best they’ve ever been, better than anything Jean could have ever hoped or dreamed. He is coping. He is living. He is a _person_. 

Until one day, Jean can’t get out of bed. 

—

It has a name.

_Dissociation._

It has a reason.

_Trauma._

It even has a purpose.

_The brain trying to process._

But none of that matters because Jean can’t get out of bed. In fact, he can’t get out from under the covers. He feels nothing but a solid numbness where his limbs used to be and the staggering weight of each breath his lungs take. A pressure sits in his veins, ebbs and flows callously, cruelly,until there is nothing left in his mind but the distinct hum of emptiness.

He can’t move. How can he move when he has no body? How can he exist when his soul is somewhere other than here? Surely this dream life is one concocted from the depths of his mind, desperate to escape the confines of the Nest. This mirror world of California sunshine and gentle hands and intricately covered books is lovely, but it can’t be real. 

He has nothing. 

No body.

No mind.

No soul.

He is nothing but the slow ebb and flow of the hollowness keeping him pinned to the mattress.

So he lies underneath the covers and waits.

Waits for the the universe to open beneath him, swallow him whole, and spit him back out at Riko’s feet.

—

_One, two, three, four._

_Four Ravens and one Jean._

_The court is cruel beneath his knees as they take him, one by one, by one, by one._

_Over and over and over and over again._

_—_

_It hurts._

_It hurts more than anything Riko has ever done to him._

_A grating, scraping pain. They hold him down, push fingerprints into his arms, chest, ribs. They hold his thighs open, pull him up with his arms behind his back, push him forward, shove his face into the floor._

—

_They leave him on the court afterwards._

_Curled into himself, leaking, bleeding, bruised._

_The numbness settles gently, comforting. It picks him up and gets him dressed and back to his dorm. It follows him into his bathroom, trickles down the drain with the pink tinged water. It curls up against his pillow, heavy like lead as he stares at the dark, dark wall. It trails behind him at practice and helps him limp home after Riko pushes him to his knees in a shower stall the next day._

_The numbness wants nothing more than to keep him alive._

_Jean can’t decide whether he hates it, or if he’s forever indebted to it._

—

Numb.

Numb.

Numb.

A voice calls his name but he’s far, far away, in the place where nothing hurts.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry that this took so long. I thought I was dealing with my mom's death pretty well and then one day, much like Jean, I woke up and couldn't get out of bed and face a world that included the absence of my mom. But I'm better now and landed a teaching position at my dream school so I promise to update more regularly now that I'm a functioning human being again. Thank you all for being patient with me. 
> 
> On another note, I know this chapter is short. But it's laying the groundwork for the culmination of Jean's final character arc for this part of the series. (I already have its two sequels meticulously planned out, in case you all were wondering). All of this will come full circle by the end. Welcome to Act Two folks!


	19. Fear has No Place Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sometimes, there are no words.

Charlie Rhemann is not panicking.

He is calm. 

In fact, he is so calm that the woman who instructed his undergrad yoga elective would be proud because Charlie has found his inner peace, his heavenly balance, his voodoo zen state of mind. Sobriety and deep breathing will do that to a man. So he is deliberately not panicking as he makes his way to Jean and Jeremy’s dorm room precisely sixteen minutes after Jean failed to appear for their reading lesson. He is a tranquil man now, in both mind and spirit, so Charlie is quite proud of the fact that he even waited sixteen minutes before making his sojourn across campus because Jean is never late. To anything. Ever. The boy has an inner clock that rivals the Mayan calendar. 

 

So when his most timid player doesn’t appear, Charlie prepares himself for mob threats written on the walls or a kidnapped linebacker. Which, in all honesty, wouldn’t be the least bit surprising knowing all that Charlie does about the type of people that run Edgar Allen’s sports administration. What he does not prepare himself for is the absolute normalcy of the dorm when he finally gets there. A space that just a few months ago had been bare but is now filled with all of the makings of two individual lives. The sweatshirt strewn across the arm of the couch is the same one that Jeremy wore to practice yesterday but the children’s chapter books on the coffee table are definitely Jean’s. As is the pair of sneakers by the front door, the English Lit binder on the floor, and the duffel bagthrown in next to the couch. Charlie picks his way across the mess, smiling gently at the reality that Jean is even comfortable enough to leave a mess, and makes his way into the kitchen, noting the empty soy milk container resting on top of the trash can. He makes a mental note to tell Jean that there are other dairy free options besides soy. There’s a strip of photos on the fridge door, held up by a llama shaped magnet, clearly from the petting zoo just north of State Route 5. Juxtaposed against a border of dancing monkeys are Jeremy and Jean and there’s something about Jean’s face in the photos that makes Charlie’s heart clench. An ease to his smile, a light in his eyes, a faint blush spreading from the the place on Jean’s cheek where Jeremy’s lips rest. Rhemann wonders when this shift happened between his players, wonders who asked who,wonders why he hadn’t noticed the same happiness that radiates across the grainy photo, radiate in person. But regardless of the details, Charlie feels a warm sense of contentment settle in his chest knowing that there is asking and boundaries and respect in this relationship. He doesn’t need to know the how and why of the situation to be assured of this truth; there are no shovel talks needed, no need to tell the other to be careful with hearts and souls. If anyone knows the value of hearts, it’s those two. 

 

It’s just as he reaches a finger out to graze across the glossy photo that Charlie realizes that the shower is running..has been running this whole time, humming in the background of the dorm. He files the tenderness in Jean’s expression away in the back of his mind for future consideration as picks his way across the kitchen and dining room, down the hall, and knocks on the closed bathroom door.

 

“Jean, you in there?” he calls, noting the light streaming beneath the crack between the door and the floor. There is no answer other than the swell of the water against tile. It’s the silence of Jean’s non-response that has Charlie saying fuck it to propriety, pushing his way into the bathroom, and abruptly stopping in the doorway at the sight that greets him.

 

It’s in this moment, as pieces of the scene in front of him- a shivering Jean, scratches on forearms, a blank stare- that Charlie remembers the first time he tried to get sober. Remembered the shaking, the vomiting, the fire in his veins. He had begged Mama to give him just one more, _just one more Mama_. Anything to ease the flames licking a path across his bloodstream. But Mama had said no and he had hated her with a passion. Hated his Mama more than he hated himself. But she didn’t give two shits. She shoved him into a cold shower and kept him there until the fog in his brain cleared enough to comprehend her words. _Now listen here boy_ , she had said, firmly gripping his chin to look him in the eye. _You listen real good because I’m not going to say this again. You’re in pain because you’re alive. You’re sure as hell going to stay that way_. He remembered turning his palm into the spray of the shower, letting the droplets cascade down his wrist, and felt that maybe he could do this. The memory is so vivid in his mind that he can almost feel his upturned hand against the shower spray, can feel Mama’s worn, brown hands rubbing warmth and soap suds into his forearms, can feel her calloused fingers dragging him out of the tub and back into bed. 

 

But this is not that.

 

This is not that moment because Jean isn’t an alcoholic, isn’t in withdrawal, isn’t clinging to substances instead of clinging to life. Jean is a boy with too much trauma who is shivering in a shower with no facial expression and Jean might not have a Mama, but he’s sure as hell got a coach.

 

The water is freezing as Charlie steps into the tub, reaching behind him to turn off the knobs 

as he crouches down in front of Jean. The kid is pale, bare knees tucked under his chin, lips a faint shade of blue. There’s no recognition in his eyes as Charlie calls his name a few times, snapping his fingers in the peripheral of Jean’s vision. He just shakes and shivers, naked, stare vacant. It’s unnerving to see. Charlie had never realized how much Jean had thawed these past few months until confronted with thereturn of the ugly blankness that marked his arrival at USC. 

 

He takes a chance and reaches out to run the tips of his fingers across the chilled skin of Jean’s bare arms and sighs with relief when Jean does nothing more than blink at him, slowly, rather than lashing out. A foolish thought, to assume that Jean would meet him with violence when his boy has only ever sought to be gentle in all things. 

“Jean, you there buddy?” Charlie says, stroking his thumb underneath the hazel eyes that are slowly beginning to show some semblance of recognition. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“C..c…coach?” Jean croaks out, quivering with cold.

“Yeah buddy, I’m here.” he huffs out on a slightly hysterically laugh. His boy is back. “What’s going on in that brilliant head of yours?” he asks, cupping Jean’s cheek with his palm. The stark contrast between his own dark skin and Jean’s pale complexion is striking.

“I..I was trying to f..f..feel.” Jean stutters, reaching a tentative hand out to grasp at Charlie’s shirt, rubbing the fabric as though he doesn’t believe that it’s really there. He runs a finger up the seam, across the two buttons on the top of the henley, and grasps at the collar. He tilts his head to the side and glances up at Charlie. “Coach?” he intones.

“Yeah bud?”

“I’m sorry.”

Charlie doesn’t even know what Jean is apologizing for but he knows that whatever it is, it isn’t Jean’s fault and he tells the kid as much. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about Jean. It’s alright.” he reassures.

“It’s not alright. I don’t feel alright.” the kid whispers, face crumpling. Jean turns his face into his shoulder, a sound like a sob is wretched from his body, and suddenly, there is too much space in-between Jean and himself. Rhemann pulls Jean into his chest and sits back in the tub, cradling Jean against his chest, ignoring the moisture soaking into the seat of his pants. Jean clutches at him with the desperation of a drowning man, body quaking with sobs so deep, so ugly, it sounds as though he can barely breath. 

 

If Charlie could trade his entire life to ease just one minute of this boy’s suffering, he would. He would take every bruise, scar, unwanted touch from Jean’s past and make it his own if it meant this brilliant human being would not live with such pain. It’s too much. It’s too much love in his heart for this kid and too much anger in his bones towards those who hurt him. He has no words, no solutions, no magic wand to wave and make Jean feel less like a stranger in his own skin. There is no fixing this and that, more than anything else, makes it absolutely unbearable to watch. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is two fold so stick around for Jean's perspective in the next chapter. I promise to not take two months with the next part. I have no excuse other than that this summer sucked, functioning is hard, my new teaching job is amazing but time consuming, and grief is a thief in the night that steals words from my lips and motivation from my heart.


	20. The Summer Rains will Cleanse this Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean might be broken, but not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual assault and references to self harm. Please proceed with caution.

The pounding of the water hitting the shower tiles is loud against the tide of Jean’s thoughts. His mind is racing, shifting rapidly over one memory and sensation to another; the court beneath his knees, the smell of their sweat, the taste of their skin, the trickle of his blood down his thighs. This body doesn’t belong to him. It doesn’t feel _right_. He wants to tear the flesh from his body. He wants to rip his hair out. He wants to destroy every part of him that they ever touched.

It _burns_. 

Jeremy’s razor is sitting right in front of his face. The handle is blue and the blade is rusting at the edges. _Jeremy never remembers to take it out of the shower_ , he thinks. Lying, innocuous, next to the coconut scented body wash that sometimes makes Jean want to lick a path from Jeremy’s neck down to his navel and beyond. The razor has five blades and a spot of shaving cream still caked between two of them from the last time it touched Jeremy’s skin. It’d be easy to do it. Break the plastic edge so that the razor pops out. Flip it between his fingers a few times. Place it vertically across his forearms and pull. 

Easy. 

Simple.

Do it now.

_No!_

Wrong.

He doesn’t do that anymore. Doesn’t think those thoughts. Doesn’t live by those rules.

He clenches his fist, grabs at his forearms to keep his fingers from betraying him. Keep them from reaching out to grab the razor. He can’t stop staring at it.

Traitorous hands and traitorous eyes.

The water is cold now. It’s dripping down his face and into his eyes. He closes them, tucks his knees to his chest, and buries his head under his arms.

—

Jean got into the shower to feel _something_. Anything but the dreadful numbness in his chest or the lead in his limbs. But now that Coach is cradling him, he feels _everything;_ the moisture slicking down his face, the pain in his diaphragm from the force of his sobs,the burning shame in his gut. His hands quiver as they clutch helplessly at Coach’s shirt, desperate to hang onto the reality in which there is someone holding him rather than hitting him. Sobs wrack his body, even as Coach gently lifts him out of the shower like a child, with one hand under his knees and the other supporting his back. Jean lets his face fall against Coach’s neck, lets gravity take his tears. He feels himself being placed gently on a bed and almost whimpers at the loss of contact. Without opening his eyes, Jean curls his knees to his chest, and tries to calm his racing breath. Everything slows to a crawl; his breath, his heartbeat, his thoughts. The world is fuzzy, as though he’s disconnected from his body, like a barrier exists between him and what’s happening to him. 

Jean lets Coach maneuver the sopping wet clothes from his body; shirt, sweatpants, underwear. For once, Jean feels no shame or fear in the discarding of clothes. Coach’s hands are warm but clinical as they strip, dry, and reclothe him. Everything is still blurred, but he can feel Coach’s fingers as they stroke his head, his cheek, his back. Running a soothing course across Jean’s frayed nerves, they act as a balm to smother the wound. Jean feels safe here, in this moment, and so he allows his body relax . He has been alone in this for so long and being alone has been exhausting. Jean’s eyes slip close and his mind wanders into slumber.

——

_“Here I am Maman!” Jean calls down the hallway. He’s searching and searching and searching for her but he can’t find her. The hallways gets longer and longer as he runs._

_“Maman! Maman!” Jean calls, whipping his head side to side, peeking into empty doorway to catch a glimpse of her colorful scarf or catch the lingering scent of her perfume._

_But she isn’t there. Nobody is there._

_Nobody except them._

_He cries and cries and cries while they hold him down, but nobody can hear him_

——

When Jean wakes, it’s to the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the window and a warm pressure clasping his hand. Slowly blinking his eyes open, Jean comes face to face with Coach- who hasn’t moved, has gone away, hasn’t _left_ Jean. Warm eyes meet his and Jean feels his throat tighten, feels tears beginning to well in his eyes. Jean lets them drip down his face and closes his eyes as a thumb reaches out to brush them away. 

“I’m sorry.” Coach whispers, voice tinged with sadness.

“For what?” Jean croaks.

“The Nest. What it took from you.” replies Coach with a gentleness that brings Jean to tears once more. It never occurs to Jean, in the moment, to distrust the sincerity of Coach’s words. Here, in this dorm and this court and this team, gentleness does not serve to disguise violence. So Jean takes it for what it is. He lets the compassion of Coach’s words, the anchoring of his hand smoothing Jean’s unruly hair, the warmth of the room as it’s filled with safety sink into his skin and settle between his ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for being patient with me! Teaching has been a wild and time consuming ride, let me tell you what. But I'm trying to write more. We have about 8-10 chapters left of this fic, which will take us up until the end of Jean's first year with the Trojans. The next part of this series will focus just on summer break because I'm a slut for some good old summer road trip cliches.
> 
> In regards to this chapter, please know that if you feel the urge to self harm like Jean does, that you are not alone. Your worth and future are not determined by the things the dead of night and a razor blade tell you that you are. I have scars on my wrists and thighs and let me tell you that it does get better. For every moment of pain I experienced then, I now have three happy memories to tell me the words and feelings that made me cut in the first place are wrong. So don't be afraid. Don't hate yourself. And reach out if you can. Because if you're drowning, you might just need someone to toss you a life vest. <3


	21. Break Down Walls, Break Down in Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which mantras really are a force to be reckoned with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alludes to sexual assault and self harm.

Everything goes back to normal after Jean’s Saturday afternoon breakdown. He goes to class, meets Coach for his reading lessons, practices with the team, and kisses Jeremy every night before bed. Coach doesn’t mention the incident and Jean is too frayed at the edges to have anymore emotional conversations. Instead, he lets himself have a week of normal. One week where he isn’t obsessing endlessly over the Nest. _This body is yours,_ he says to himself as he gets into the shower. _Their hands are not touching you_ , as a skateboarder accidentally brushes his arm on the way to class. _This life belongs to you_ , as he completes the mundane task of taking notes from a powerpoint lecture. _You can say no and he will listen_ , when Jeremy asks if he can kiss Jean. _You can eat this_ , when Galaxy offers him french fries at dinner. Y _ou do not owe him anything for this_ , he repeats in his head during his reading lesson with Coach. _It is okay to feel safe here, you are allowed to ask for help, you can state an opinion at the dinner table, it is alright to feel sad sometimes, you are worth something, you are not there anymore_. Jean mantras his way through the day, just like his therapist suggested, and hopes that one day he’ll actually believe it.

—

“What are you doing Friday night?” Jeremy asks as he spins around the living room, looking for his glasses. Every morning, Jeremy places his glasses on his head while he washes his face and every morning, he frantically spins around the dorm searching for them while they sit on top of his head.

“Nothing.” replies Jean from his spot on the couch. He finishes tying his shoes before getting up to stand in front of Jeremy. He quirks an eyebrow before snatching the glasses perched on Jeremy’s head and placing them on his face. Jeremy scrunches his nose to push them into place and it is absolutely not the most endearing thing that Jean has seen this morning. 

“Good,” Jeremy says, stretching a hand out to link his pinky with Jean’s. “Because I’m taking you out. On a real date.” Jean feels a blush creep up his neck at the softness in the look that Jeremy is giving him. 

“Well then,” Jean says, lowering his voice to a whisper and stepping into Jeremy’s space. “I suppose I better find something to wear.” He leans forward to place a gentle kiss on Jeremy’s lips, allowing himself a moment to suck the bottom one through his teeth. They taste like cinnamon and banana. He savors it for a few seconds before pulling back. “Have a great day.” Jean says, giving Jeremy one last peck before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door to his Lit lecture. 

—

Sunlight streams into the lecture hall, filling the space with an iridescent calm. The dust reflects the rays as they float towards the ceiling and the scent of worn pages and chalk is heavy in the air. It soothes Jean in a way he never expected. His anxiety melts away the minute he passes the threshold. Maybe it’s because Professor Metz never forces him to speak, never cold calls on him during discussions to squeeze an answer out of him. Something about the Socratic method of teaching. No matter the reason, not being forced to talk makes Jean feel like he’s in control, like he isn’t going to suddenly be the focus of the class’s attention and scrutiny. They’re all very kind, well everyone except Ryan, but he doesn’t think that he’s ready to be judged for being stupid yet.

“We love the things we love for what they are.” Professor Metz says, pacing in front of the class with his hands at his sides. “Did everyone hear what I just quoted? No, you all didn’t because Ryan is talking again. So let me repeat myself. We love the things we love for what they are. Discuss.” And like that, Metz perches himself on the edge of the lecture stage and wait for them to begin. 

“Well, I think it means that we love that which we love not for what we want or need them to be, but for what they are in the moment. Right now, not what they were or what they could be. Love without expectation of change.” Emily starts, tapping her pen against her notebook as she speaks. 

Emily is one of Jean’s favorite classmates. He’s never spoken to her but she always goes out of her way to wave and smile at him, never makes him feel like he needs to swallow his anxiety and have a conversation. Jean knows that she calls her mom right after class to check on her grandma who has cancer, that she’s lactose intolerant too so the caramel macchiato she brings to lecture has almond milk instead, and that she’s studying to be a teacher. She’s going to be amazing with her future students, Jean can just tell. 

“But we can’t just not have expectations for the people we love. What if your significant other is an alcoholic and you just never say anything because that’s just what they are? Then you loving them without expectation means that they’ll never have the incentive to be anything other than an alcoholic.” Kait chimes in. 

Kait never really says anything that can be supported by anything more than her personal opinion and experience. Jean once saw her arguing with her boyfriend, a senior, outside the South Street dorms. He was drunk and she was crying. He was telling her that he doesn’t have a problem and she was saying he does but she loves him. Her love must not have mattered though, because he left her standing there in the dark, mascara running down her face. Jean had wanted to tell her that it was going to be okay but he, more than anyone, knows that lies don’t really make anything better. 

“But it’s not your responsibility to change them or make them want to stop being an alcoholic.” Emily interjects, her conviction propelling her to the edge of her seat. “We’re talking about loving people no matter their faults. Loving them for what they are, not what you need them to be. If they are something that makes them hurt you, like an alcoholic, then they don’t really love you. They don’t love you for what you are and neither do you. You love each other for what you want the other to be. You deserve better than that” Emily finishes, releasing her posture to relax back into her chair. 

“I’m just saying that wanting someone to be better doesn’t negate the fact that you love them, it means you love them more. You’re supposed to stick with the people that you love, even when they’re going through a rough patch.” Kait replies defensively. 

“Alcoholism isn’t a rough patch Kait. It’s not something that will go away if you just love a person enough.” Reese chimes in kindly from the back. Reese is quiet, like Jean, but always knows the right thing to say. Sometimes, Reese is late to class because he volunteers with homeless youth at the community center. Jean saw him putting up flyers for the community center crisis line around campus. Jean waited until no one was around before taking one. Just in case.

“Well, it’s not like your opinion really matters anyways Kait because everyone and their mother knows that the guy you love is a raging alcoholic so, ya know.” Ryan chimes in with a smirk. Kait visibly flinches back in her seat and the jerk of her chair as she does makes Jean’s heart clench uncomfortably. 

“Keep it on topic Mr. Slyder and try to not be such a dick.” Professor Metz says, leveling a glare in Ryan’s direction. Ryan throws his hands up in a placating gesture and it sets every one of Jean’s nerves on edge. The unapologetic arrogance, sickly and toxic, is too reminiscent of Riko.Jean grates his teeth together before turning his attention back to what Emily is saying.

“…less about the faults of the person and more about loving them despite those faults. Let’s say that you have a letter from your grandma that she wrote to you on the day that you were born. It’s your most prized possession and you keep it in a safe place because it holds a piece of your heart. But let’s say that one day it get ripped to pieces. Do you love it any less because it’s flawed? Do you discard it because it’s no longer perfect? No, because it holds value, even though it’s been scarred. It still holds value.”

_Le pardon_ , Jean thinks. 

“ _Le pardon_.” Jean says before he can stop himself. 

Silence descends. 

There are nine sets of shocked eyes staring at him and he had something to say, but now he can’t remember how to speak in English. His breathing begins to speed up in the dead quiet following his comment and he gulps down the saliva suddenly pooling under his tongue. Professor Metz must sense his anxiety because he leaves his place at the front of the room and stands beside Jean, shifting the focus of the class away. 

“Go on Jean, continue.” Metz says kindly, giving Jean an an encouraging smile before averting his eyes so as to not state at Jean. The class takes the hint and they all find some alternative thing to look at and suddenly, the air returns to Jean’ss lungs.

“ _Le pardon_ ,” Jean repeats. “It is…how do you say…Forgiveness. It is forgiveness. Broken things are only broken because someone did not know how to treat such a thing with care. So if we love what we love for what it already is, and if we assume that all things are somewhat broken, then the problem is not expectation. The problem is that we must learn to forgive them their broken pieces, just as they must forgive ours.” Jean finishes, flushing at the look of pride on Metz’s face.

“Oh yeah?” Ryan interrupts. “And what would a washed up stickball player know about the meaning of life? You probably spent your years in black on your knees, sucking cock just to make it to the starting line.” Ryan sneers. 

And just like that, he’s seventeen again. Surrounded by their face and their sneers.

Mocking. Pushing. Forcing. Hurting.

Jean is out of his seat and speed walking out of the lecture hall before he can even process the fact that he’s moving. Ignoring the shout of his name from behind, Jean keeps his head down to hide the tears dripping down his face. He doesn’t even know where he’s going except that there is too much open space and too many people. He ducks into the first empty alcove he can find and makes himself as small as possible in the corner. Half hidden by a water fountain and a bench, Jean lets his head fall against his curled up knees.

_You’re not there, you’re not there, you’re not there._

Repeats it over and over in his head. 

Whispers it under his breath. 

Puts it into the universe so that it will become real.

_You’re not there, you’re not there, you’re not there._

“Jean!” comes a shout down the hallway. Jean looks up to see a frantic Professor Metz jogging down the hallway. He skids to a stop and drops to his knees right beside Jean. 

“You alright kid?” Metz asks, laying hand on Jean’s shoulder, which he quickly retracts when Jean flinches at the contact. A look of understanding passes over Metz’s face.

“Jean, where are you right now?” Metz asks, voice lowering in register.

Questions. Jean can do questions.

“With them.”

“Who is them?”

“My old team.”

“What are you doing?”

“What Ryan said…but not…not because I want to.”

Silence stretches between them and the feeling slowly begins to creep back into Jean’s fingertips. He doesn’t know when he stopped being able to feel them but it tingles as he wiggles them.

“I would tell you that I’m sorry for whatever happened to you, but I’m sure you’ve had enough pity to last a lifetime. But I will say that I found your participation in our class discussion heartening. I do have a follow up question though, if you don’t mind?”

Jean thinks for a second. Then another second, before nodding.

“What is forgiveness to you?” Metz asks, genuine curiosity written in his expression.

Jean thinks back on his life. He thinks back to seaside lullabies and a dead boy with blonde hair. He thinks of the weight of his first Exy racquet and the sound that his nose made the first time Riko broke it. He thinks of the books on his desk and Coach lifting him out of the bathtub and the razor that was so close but that he never picked up. He thinks of new food rules and his watch and coffee dates with Galaxy. He thinks of movie nights and the way that Alvarez stares at Dermott when she thinks no one is looking. He thinks of the warmth of Jeremy’s hand in his and the way that Jeremy asks before he does and how excited Jean is to be going on a real date in four days. He thinks of sunlight streaming through dorm windows and the smack of the ball against the court and the number on the back of his jersey that is a glaring 3.

“Forgiveness is something that we give to ourselves.” 

And for the first time, in a very long time, Jean thinks this one might apply to him as well. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter in one week, not too shabby! 
> 
> It did just occur to me that I haven't written any Exy games in this fic yet beyond scrimmages so I'll sprinkle a few in. The most important one is where Jean will, obviously, have to face the Ravens so that'll be our main stickball arc.
> 
> Anyways, everyone have a lovely week!


	22. Wanting You Don't Mean I Have Get to Have You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get hot and heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to sexual assault and abuse. Please proceed accordingly.

“Ah, Mr. Slyder, so glad you could join us. How was your two day suspension?” Metz mocks from his place at the front of the room as Ryan makes his way to his seat.

“Pretty restful actually, thanks for asking.” Ryan mock replies back, sliding into the seat next to Jean, whose skin immediately begins to crawl at the proximity. The memory of last week’s lecture sits like acid, still, in Jean’s stomach. But he loves this class, loves words, and he’ll be damned if he lets some oversized troll ruin that for him.

“Keep it line today Slyder or we’ll see if we can’t turn suspension into expulsion.” Metz threatens before turning his back to write on the board. Ryan uses the lack of attention to throw a lecherous look in Jean’s direction. Jean sinks lower in his chair and tries his best to ignore the leaden sense of foreboding in his stomach.

—

“Hi Jean.” a soft voice speaks out, snapping Jean out of his head. Looking up, he sees Emily, from Lit class. She looks radiant, calm in a way that Jean would envy if Emily weren’t also the most beautiful soul.

“Hello.” Jean replies back, dog earring the corner of his page before setting his book on the grass beside him. 

“I know we haven’t really spoken outside of class, but, um..” she hesitates, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “There’s a house party that the debate team is throwing since we made it to finals. It’s not going to be like the frat parties, but um, would you want to come? You can bring the Exy team too.” she finishes, eyes hopeful.

“When and where?” he asks, because really there was no way that he was going to turn her down. The smile she grants him in reply is radiant. 

—

“Wear the green sweater.” Penny says from her perch upside down on Jean’s bed. 

Jean stands at his dresser digging through the drawers for the sweater in question. He’s nervous as he pulls it on, smoothing it down the front. This is Jean and Jeremy’s first real date. Sure, they’ve been dating since school started in August, and it’s October now, but they’ve been taking things slowly.

So slowly that sometimes Jean thinks that he’s going to burst. But it’s the right thing to do, to establish boundaries and discover what Jean wants for himself. That’s what his therapist says, at any rate. So they’ve gone out to eat, cuddled during movie nights, and held hands on the way to class. They’ve touched themselves in each other’s presence and ventured into some heavy petting, but nothing more. _Taking our time_ , Jeremy says. _There’s no rush_ , Jeremy says. 

So tonight is special. A real date, off campus, on a rare Saturday where they have neither practice or a game. Jeremy didn’t tell him what they’re doing, but Jean wants one night where he’s just a boy falling in love. No Nest, no schoolwork, no Ryan or Riko. Just him and Jeremy and the peace that always settles around them when they’re together.

 

“You look good Moreau!” Penny exclaims, pulling Jean from his reverie. She pushes her thick framed glasses up her nose as she crosses her legs. “Now get over here so that I can paint your nails.”

Jean sinks onto the bed next to her and rests his right hand in hers. She pulls a deep burgundy polish from her bag and begins to apply a first coat. She blows gently on one hand for a minute before switching to his left. Adding a second coat, Penny takes a critical look at his hands before pronouncing them beautiful and applying a top coat. Jean raises his hands to inspect Penny’s work and, as always, he feels himself grow lighter with the freedom of choice.

“Thanks Pen, I owe you one.” Jean says with a smile as Penny packs up her things.

“You don’t owe me shit Moreau. But you can give me a hug if you’re so intent on payment.” Penny replies with a smile. She throws her bag over her shoulder and stands on her tiptoes to wrap Jean in a hug. He squeezes her back tightly, just the she taught him to. _Hugs are for comfort Moreau,_ _not for stiff limbs_ , she had said during his second week here. 

“Alright, have fun on your date! I’ll see you for brunch tomorrow!” Penny calls out as she exits the dorm with a smile thrown over her shoulder. 

—

Jean doesn’t understand where Jeremy has taken him until the moment he steps through the archway of the art exhibit. He’s surrounded by…stars. Hundred of thousands of stars, glistening, reflected back into infinite space. The entirety of the space he resides in is awash in a warm glow; from floor to ceiling the stars stretch, surrounded him until he can’t discern where he ends and they begin. There’s a soft trickling in the background of the exhibit and as he takes a closer look, Jean realizes that infinity is actually a mirrored room and layers of water, lights reflected upon every surface. It is the most beautiful thing that he has every set his eyes upon. He spins in a slow circle in the dim room, mouth agape. How anyone could create such beauty with only their hands and imagination, is mind blowing. It reminds Jean of the trip he and Maman had taken to the Louvre. Everything had been so beautiful, so untouchable, that even as a child Jean could understand the artwork’s sacred purpose. _Art gives us hope that the world is filled with beauty_ , Maman had said. Standing amongst infinity, Jean thinks that he might finally understand. 

Jean completes his turn and his eyes instinctively land on Jeremy, who is standing a few feet away. Jean takes a moment to drink him in; the warmth in his eyes, the content smile as he watches Jean’s fascination, the way his skin glistens under the lights. 

“I’ll take your expression as a sign of enjoyment?” Jeremy questions with a small chuckle of amusement. Jean reaches his hand out to link his pinky with Jeremy’s. 

“You gave me the stars, mon amour.” he whispers, leaning forward to capture a kiss. He lets his lips explore, enjoy, and savor the taste of this exquisite man that has somehow decided to bestow upon Jean such unselfish love. Jean tries to pour everything he feels into the kiss; imprinting his trust with a quick nip to Jeremy’s lower lip, salving the unintentional scars from keeping walls up for so long with the tip of his tongue, chasing the present and the future with every gasp exchanged. Jean’s body is tingling, softly and pleasantly, as he breathlessly disengages from the kiss. “Tu m'as donné les étoiles.” Jean whispers in wonder, face iridescent in the glow of the dome’s reflective lights. 

 

Under the stars, a thousand moments coalesce into this;

 

_The way that Jeremy wakes; slowly and disheveled, as thought he isn’t quite sure that’s he's ready to function yet._

 

_Steady hands rubbing up and down Jean’s back as he throws up after another nightmare. Those same hands gently wiping vomit off of Jean’s face before leading him back to bed. Hands that smooth the blankets over Jean’s shaking form, wipe tears from his cheek, brush through his hair in comfort._

 

_Laughter. Light. Car radios played too loudly. Twizzlers. Movie nights. Restringing racquets. Holding hands on the way to class. Homework sessions. Coffee dates._

 

_Gentle understanding when the day is a no touch kind of day. Permission asked on touching days. Asking, consent, boundaries. Respect._

 

_The smell of Jeremy’s skin after the shower. The curl of his cowlick during morning practice. The way sweat glistens off of his body after their evening runs. The longing in Jean’s bones every time he sees Jeremy’s body, smile, light._

 

_The love that thrums in Jean’s core for this man._

 

“Take me home.” he whispers, grabbing Jeremy’s hand. 

—

The Nest follows them into bed, but Jeremy chases it away with the soft pressure of his hands licking pathways of flame over Jean’s skin. Laid on his back, shirt rucked up around his waist, Jean lets Jeremy press him into the bed. Warm lips trace over the shell of Jean’s ear, down to press softly at the pulse point in his neck, drift over his collarbone. Whispers of warmth are left in every place that Jeremy graces and in this moment, Jean feels something close to whole. His breathing is harsh in his ears but Jean doesn’t care. He feels good. This feels so good.

“Can I take your shirt off?” Jeremy asks, waiting with his hands at his sides for Jean’s response. 

“Yes. I want you to, please” Jean replies, voice quaking with need. Jeremy’s smile is blindingly bright and he bends down to peck at Jean’s lips before slowly unbuttoning Jean’s collared shirt. Nerves tingle in the bottom of Jean’s stomach when Jeremy gazes down on his bared chest and abdomen, hyperaware of the jagged scars that crisscross a path over his pale skin. But Jeremy has no such hesitation, the look in his eyes one of adoration as he leans down place butterfly kisses across each and every imperfection. Jean gasps, arching into the touch. Mind buzzing, he lets his body takes the reign, enjoys the way that Jeremy kisses, nips, and licks his way down to his bellybutton and back up. There is laughter as Jeremy kisses a spot on Jean’s left side that Jean himself hadn’t even know was ticklish. There are breathless moans as Jeremy grinds his hips down in a steady rhythm, erection hard and deliciously warm against Jean’s own. There is softness in the way that Jean meets Jeremy’s every touch, every caress, every sound of pleasure.

There is revelation in the caress of hands upon skin, lips upon lips, mutual respect met with mutual consent. There is perfection in this moment, whole and unfettered until until Jeremy catches Jean’s wrists and pins them lightly above their heads. That movement sends all of the warmth from Jean’s body. He instinctually clenches his eyes shut, braces for a blow now that he’s immobilized. He can’t tell if the hands on him are Jeremy’s or Riko’s, can’t separate his body _then_ from his body _now_. Breathing ragged, he can’t make the words _stop_ pass his lips. 

But he doesn’t have to because suddenly, the weight that was pressing him down is no longer there. Jean lays there, gasping for air, trying to reorient himself to the present. The feeling is slowly tingling back into his fingers and even though it feels like pinprick up and down his arms, he pushes himself up on them until his back is against the cold wall. Jean can feel the tremors wracking his body even as he curls into himself, knees under chin and arms wrapped around, comforting, small, safe.

Looking across the bed, Jean notices several things in quick succession. Jeremy is sitting cross-legged on the bed with sad, mournful eyes. His skin has taken on the grey tone that tells Jean that Jeremy has already extrapolated the trigger from the events of the past few minutes. His lips are swollen and there a small bruises starting to form on Jeremy’s neck from Jean was suckling at not even ten minutes before.But mostly, Jean notices that Jeremy isn’t touching him, is too far away, has abided by Jean’s need for space without ever having been explicitly asked to do so.So he fixes it by climbing into Jeremy’s lap, hugging him close, and hiding his face in Jeremy’s bare shoulder. Jeremy doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace, holding Jean just as tightly. The hands that rub across Jean’s shoulder blades whisper forgiveness and sorrow. Jean can hear what Jeremy is saying, even if the room is silent except for their breaths; _It’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about, you did nothing wrong, I’m proud of you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry._

There shouldn’t be apologies here.

Jean leans forward further into Jeremy’s shoulder as the grief rolls over him. He _wants_ this, he _wants_ this, and it’s like a part of himself that will allow him to have it is never coming back.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay.” Jeremy soothes.

“No, no it’s not okay!” Jean forces out. And then he’s sobbing. But not like he wants anyone to hear. He’s sobbing as though he can’t stop, like he’s tried everything else and this is the only choice he has left. “I want this.” Jean mumbles brokenly, damp face still turned into the crook of Jeremy’s neck.

“I know, Jean, I know.” Jeremy whispers, holding Jean tightly against his chest.

“I want you.” Jean cries, voice breaking. And really, there’s nothing more to say after that. Because the truth is that Riko had taken everything from him; Maman, his childhood, his mind, his body, his soul.

And now this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all really thought Jean was just ready to have sex after two months with Jeremy? Nah, we're going on a full recovery journey here folks. Stay tuned for the house party from hell, a little make up masturbation, and a good old Coach Rhemann pep talk. ;)


	23. The Things We Carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shame is great many things, none of which are easy to carry.

Shame is acidic.

It seeps into Jean’s skin when he wakes and finds Jeremy’s side of the bed cold. It corrodes his vision as he strips the sweat soaked sheets from the bed and tosses them in the hamper. It slicks down his back in the shower as he washes over the hickey on his chest. It rots him from the inside out as he washes his cereal bowl in the sink, dries it with the grey dishtowel Jeremy never remembers to fold, and places it back in the cabinet that doesn’t have a knob because Laila accidentally pulled it off during their Lord of the Ring marathon last month.

\--

Shame is cowardly.

Jean skips practice.

Jean skips dinner.

Jean skips team movie night.

He hides in the pews of the damp church until the moon chases the sun away before he text Jeremy.

_I’m sleeping in Penny’s room tonight._

—

Shame is heavy.

It sits like stone in Jean’s gut as Metz explains the parameters for their term paper. Jean doesn’t want to carry it any longer, but he doesn’t know how to set it down. Shame is a slow unraveling of the truth he had worked so hard to cultivate. Turns out that real life- trauma- seeps in no matter what you use to seal the windows.

—

Shame strangles.

Jean wants to ask Coach if sex is supposed to hurt. He want to ask Coach if it’s supposed to feel good and hurt at the same time, or if it only feels good if it’s with the right person. He wants to tell Coach that he wanted everything that Jeremy had asked to give him last night. He wants to tell Coach that his body and mind are still sometimes in the Nest. He thinks that Coach might already know that though. He wants Coach to tell him how he’s supposed to apologize to Jeremy for being so weak, so dirty. But he knows that Coach would tell him that the pain that comes with healing is not weakness, but strength. So maybe he just wants Coach to tell him when the pain goes away. Does it ever go away? He thinks that maybe it never does, that he’s just supposed to keep it with him forever. He doesn’t want that answer though. So he doesn’t ask Coach anything at all.

—

Shame makes him say things that he doesn’t really mean.

I’m going to stay with Penny this weekend.

I can’t come home yet Jeremy. I need space.

I don’t think I can do this.

—

Shame makes him think things that he doesn’t really believe.

I can’t do this. I can’t love him. I can’t let him touch me.

I cannot carry this. I cannot bring him into so shameful a space. I cannot dirty the sun.

I have to walk away.

—

Professor Metz,

I have found a book and topic for my term paper. I would like to read The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien, with an emphasis on the meaning of guilt and shame. Does this meet the requirements for the project?

Respectfully,

Jean Moreau

_Sent from MyIphone 11:54pm_

—

_Text Message:_

_Jeremy, can I come home?_

_Sent: 9:45pm_

 

_Text Message:_

_You can always come home Jean. I’ll be waiting for you when you get here. <3 _

_Sent: 9:47pm_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see. Life is crazy, sorry for the sporadic updates. 
> 
> This is a filler, lead up chapter to the next chapter where our boys will work their shit out, attend a house party, and discover that there's more than one way to be physically intimate. ;)


	24. I, Me, We, Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the hard thing and the right thing are the same.

The November wind whips through Jean’s flopped over hair as he pushes his way past the crowd of people milling about near Old Maine. The swell of people on campus going about their average lives is something that Jean will never take for granted. There are always people milling about; sorority sisters moving down the sidewalk in packs, a game of pick up football on the Quad, skateboarders flipping over the benches as they speed their way to class, harried teachers rushing to their next lecture holding a semester’s worth of grading. The world is filled with so much life that even on his worst day, it never fails to make Jean feel alive too. 

It’s not a terribly long walk from the church to the Trojan’s dorms, but as Jean crawls slowly towards his conversation with Jeremy, he can’t help but feel as though time is moving at an unnaturally quick pace. The thing is, Jean wants to go home. But there’s a part of him- a very real, very terrified part- that fears that Jeremy will turn him away. And after a week of dodging his calls and texts, skipping practice, avoiding their room…well, Jean wouldn’t blame Jeremy for breaking up with him.

In what seems like seconds, Jean is standing at the door to their dorm. Though he has a key, has had a key all these months, Jean still raises a shaking hand to rap twice on the door. In the ten seconds it takes Jeremy to answer, Jean imagines every possible way that he could be greeted- scorn, hate, shouting, yelling, silence. But not once did he consider that he might be greeted with the look of relief that passes over Jeremy’s face as soon as turns the doorknob. It’s overwhelming in its unexpectedness. Jean awkwardly shuffles his way past Jeremy and into the living room, avoiding eye contact as though he is a dog who tore apart a couch in its owner’s absence.

“Jean?” Jeremy questions from across the room, leaving miles and miles of space between them. How is Jean supposed to apologize for so many sins? For leaving. For not coming back sooner. For being dirty. For panicking and running and crying and screaming in his sleep and struggling with meals and wanting Jeremy to fuck him and not wanting Jeremy to touch him and for wanting to stay but also wanting to leave. There aren’t enough words to make that comprehensible to Jeremy so instead, Jean just settles for making his way across the room and engulfing Jeremy in his arms. He pours everything he cannot say- I’m sorry, I missed you, I love you, forgive me- into the embrace. “Jean.” Jeremy whispers into the space between them, and just like that Jean knows that he has been forgiven. Jean grabs Jeremy’s face between his palms and places gentle butterfly kisses across his forehead, nose, cheeks, lips. Gentle, in a way the Nest convinced him that he never could be, Jean licks his way into Jeremy’s mouth and pours every ounce of love he possesses into their kiss as though it were the very air needed to survive.

They don’t part for a very, very long time. 

—

Later, after lingering embraces and fervent kisses, Jean sequesters himself on the couch to watch Jeremy cook dinner. The line of Jeremy’s back is strong as he lifts the pot of pasta off the stove and drains it in the sink. Jean has run his hands beneath that t-shirt, grasped at the skin along Jeremy’s spine, kissed his way past every freckle and yet, he will never be tired of the strength that broad back possesses. He will never be tired of Jeremy’s hands, the way they grasp his racquet or stir spaghetti sauce, or tenderly brush hair from Jean’s face. He will never be tired of the way that Jeremy smiles or laughs or encourages others or seeks out the good in everyone. He will never be tired of this man and it is that thought that compels him to say what he says next.

“I think I should move in with Penny.”

Jeremy’s entire body stiffens as soon as the words reach him. The air thickens with tension as Jeremy very clearly tries to school his features into something less emotional before turning around. “Why?” Jeremy questions through clenched teeth, trying to keep a lid on his anger and confusion.

Jean doesn’t blame him for his expression. He only blames himself for being skittish and needy, for building this relationship on top of things _he_ needed instead of things _they_ needed. It’s different to need something as a pair instead of as an individual. It’s different to love someone more than yourself. Jean tries to muster the words he needs to explain that this will be good for them. 

“You try to be less when I’m here. Less angry, less anxious, less sad. That’s not fair to you. It’s not fair to me. We deserve to be whole. We deserve the space to draw boundaries. We can’t do that if I stay here.” Jean explain, gently, compassionately. 

“You want to break up?” Jeremy questions, his voice raw with emotion.

“No! God, no, Jer.” exclaims Jean, vaulting from his spot on the couch to close the distance between them. He smoothes his hands down Jeremy’s arms before grasping his fingers between his own. “I want to give us the space we need to succeed as a couple. I need a space to walk away to. You need a space to not walk on eggshells. If I move in with Penny, then we’re just apart enough to be separate when we need to be and close enough to be together when we want to be. Does that make sense?”

Jeremy’s face is frozen somewhere between sadness and acceptance as he nods his understanding. He leans forwards to rest his forehead against Jean’s. “When did you become the emotionally sensitive one in this relationship?” he whispers into the air between them.

“Blame it on my therapist.” Jean replies with a huff of laughter, placing a gentle kiss on Jeremy’s nose.

_We’re going to be okay_ , Jean thinks, as he wraps his arms around Jeremy.

_We’re going to be okay._

—

The tapping on his office door jolts Rhemann out of his hyper focus over this year’s budget. Looking up, he sees Jean hesitating in the doorway. He beckons the kid in as he rubs his eyes to clear his vision of columns of numbers. _Fucking Excel spreadsheets_ , he thinks as he shoves the stacks of budget requests to the side. 

“What’s up, bud?” Rhemann asks, not standing on ceremony to wait for Jean to sit down.

“I, um, I was wondering if I could ask you something?” Jean says, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “Something..um, personal?”

“Kid, you know that you can ask me anything. Shoot.” Rhemann replies, leaning back in his chair.

Jean’s brows furrow in confusion. “Shoot? Why are we shooting, Coach?” Jean asks, so genuinely that it makes Rhemann full on belly laugh. _This kid has my heart,_ he thinks.

“It’s just an expression, kid. It just means to say what you wanted say.” Rhemann explains, wiping tears of laughter from him face.

“English makes no sense.” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes. It makes something warm pool in Rhemann’s chest to see Jean acting like a teenager. Eye rolls and muttering under his breath and sarcastic comments. 

“English is a bastard language. It’s never gonna make sense.” Rhemann laughs. “Alright, sorry to derail the conversation. What did you want to ask me?”

Jean inhales deeply before speaking. “I just…I want to know the way that sex is supposed to be. Not like in the Nest, but normal, like when you love someone and they love you back.” A flush is slowly spreading up Jean’s neck and face as he awkwardly cuts himself off. He moves a hand to rub at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. 

Rhemann blinks.

The weight of Jean’s request isn’t lost on Rhemann. He knows enough of Jean’s life in the Nest to be able to piece together that sex and pain must be irrevocably intertwined. He knows enough of Jean’s true self to know that he wants more than that for his relationship with Jeremy. He knows enough about being a human being to know that love is powerful and precious and something that his kid, of all people, deserves to bask in. And he knows enough about himself to know that he would never deny Jean a single thing.

 

—

_Jean Moreau_

_Professor Metz_

_15 November_

_English 308_

_The Things We Carry: A personal reflection_

_In Tim O’Brien’s novel, The Things We Carry, the author uses the physical content of a Vietnam soldier’s rucksack as a metaphor for the trauma one brings back from war. A canteen becomes a dead best friend. An MRE becomes weeks of insomnia. A flashlight becomes_

_The weight of the backpack is only defined by what the soldier places in it, whether tangible or psychological. But O’Brien’s most poignant point is not the symbolism of the rucksack, but rather the idea that the the things we carry do not define us. Though the novel centers on the mental weight of trauma, O’Brien’s purpose is not to insinuate that trauma is in itself unconquerable. Rather, O’Brien utilizes the theme of forgiveness to demonstrate that trauma can be taken piece by piece from the rucksack to be dealt with as the victim of trauma feels ready.The rucksack is nothing more than a conduit for healing. In this essay, I will explore the personal ramifications of trauma, the empowering influence of forgiveness, and the possibility of living a life defined by joy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see. Sorry for the delay everyone! Teaching is time consuming and holy shit it's summer break now, bless! My goal this summer is to finish this fic and write a lengthy one shot about Jean's first summer break away from the Nest. My sunshine boy needs a sunshine summer, for sure. :) Also, I started writing the actual essay for Jean's lit class (because I seriously love the book he's writing about) so I might include that later on in full if that's something that you all want to read? Next chapter is semi-planned out and will definitely include a typical American college house party ;p


	25. House Party Rules aren't Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which house parties and rules don't go hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features an attempted sexual assault. Please proceed accordingly.

      “Do you think penguins miss flying?” Penny asks from across the room where she’s hanging upside down from her bed.

Jean raises an eyebrow at her. “What in the actual fuck are you talking about Pen?”

      “I’m saying that penguins must miss the ability to fly. Like, they have wings that are just there? Why, Jean, why?” exclaims Penny, shooting upright. “They’re just stuck here on the ground while the rest of the birds get to soar! Totally unfair. Especially cause penguins are so cute.”

      “You’re _en dehors de vos pensées_. Out of your mind.” Jean laughs, throwing a pillow across the room. Penny lets out an indignant squawk as it hits her in the face. Her ginger ponytail swings back and forth with the impact, her laughter echoing off their dorm room walls.

      It had been easier than he expected to move in with Penny. He had moved his stuff across the hall, kissed Jeremy goodnight, and from that point on it was as though he had always been there. Penny’s room is a stark contrast to his rooms with Jeremy. Where Jeremy had blue and green, Penny had colors. Every single color that you could imagine- reds, pinks, blues, violet, aquamarine, periwinkle- all tied together in a way that only someone as sure of self as Penny could possibly pull off. There are mounds of colorful pillows strewn across the living room, strips of ribbon hanging on the dining room wall, mismatched plates and eccentric mugs. It’s all so bright and effortless that it makes Jean feel warm and safe.

      “We’re going to be late to the party.” Jean states, making his way towards their shared closet to change. Penny’s side of the walk in is just as bright as her personality. Jean’s is much more subdued, something about earth and jewel tones according to Laila. Jean doesn’t really know what that means, but he slips on a royal blue v-neck and a pair of skinny jeans. Slipping his shoes on and grabbing his jacket, he walks into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Jean used to avoid mirrors, too scared to see how pale or disfigured his face looked after one of Riko’s beatings. But now, he can look at himself without flinching. The only remnant of Riko is the ugly tattoo nestled on his pale cheek, a stark reminder of his past. It doesn’t burn as much now that Jeremy has placed his lips on it. Jeremy has a way of dulling every ache.

      “Jean, hurry up!” Penny shouts from the bedroom.

      “I’m coming!” he shouts back, spitting a glob of toothpaste into the sink before rinsing his mouth out.

      “That’s what she said!” laughs Penny, now leaning against the bathroom doorway. She scoots Jean over to the side of the vanity and begins braiding her hair in an intricate loop around her head. Jean is mesmerized by the way her fingers weave in and out, plaiting her hair into a crown. Jean leaps up on the counter to lean against the mirror while Penny does her makeup. She’s chattering on about cat eyes and setting spray, but it all goes over Jean’s head. He just likes to bask in her friendship, which is easy and comforting and pure. Penny whips a dark maroon lipstick across her mouth, blots it with a tissue, and pulls Jean off the counter.

      “Jean,” she says, grabbing his hands in one of hers as she slings her purse across her chest, “Are you ready for your first college house party?”

The twinkle in her eyes makes Jean feel as though he isn’t quite prepared for what the night has in store for them, but he follows her out of their dorm and down the hallway anyways.

—

      Despite Emily’s assurance that the party will be “small” and “debate team only”, the raging zoo that greets the team as they pull up in their Uber is nothing less than extraordinary. Shirtless frat bros are clustered in the front yard. Sorority girls cheer them on as one after the other hits the keg stand. Somebody is vaulting off the first story overhand on their skateboard to thunderous applause. For some reason Jean can’t determine, there’s a person dressed as the Kool Aid man running around, shrieking like a banshee.

      The scent of weed and cigarettes cling heavy in the air as the Exy team makes their way inside. Galaxy is shouting something but the beat of the music muffles his voice and honestly, Jean is overwhelmed enough that he doesn’t really put any effort into trying to figure out what he’s saying. He glances out of the corner of his eye to watch Galaxy, Alvarez, and Laila make their way towards the beer pong table. The cluster of people around the stack of red Solo cups cheer as the team arrives and money begins to pool in the center of the table as bets mount.

      “Did you know that Galaxy is the reining beer pong champion on campus?” Jeremy asks Jean, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling into his side. As always, there is a warmth that radiates from Jeremy that has nothing to do with temperature.

      “Bullshit.” Jean intones, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Except, now that it’s out of his mouth, it doesn’t feel true. Galaxy is one of the best shots on the team. Cups aren’t too different than goals, right?

      “I’m gonna go get a drink. You want one?” Jeremy asks. Jean shakes his head in the negative, accepting the light brush of Jeremy’s lips against his own before swatting him away towards the kitchen. Jean makes his way to the living room, which has been cleared of all furniture to accommodate a makeshift dance floor and one of the music program geniuses DJ’ing in the corner. Jean leans back against a wall and watches the mass of bodies grind against each other to the filth of a remix blaring from the speaker system. There’s something oddly mesmerizing about the way people live their lives in motion. Jean’s whole life had revolved around his ability to move his body with precision and yet, something about the normalcy of the gyrating occurring on the dance floor leaves Jean in awe. They’re all so free. Jean is free. To dance or sit on the couch or have a drink or play beer pong. He’s free to be a college kid here, normal for once in his life. With that thought in mind, he shuffled his way through the crowd to take Jeremy up on his offer of a drink.

—

      After the third drink, Jean loses track of time. Sometime after his second drink, the team had dispersed into the crowd. Laila and Alvarez were making out on the front porch. Galaxy had joined the pot heads out back and Penny and Jeremy are still stationed at the beer pong table. And Jean is…somewhere close to being blackout drunk. He sways his hips to the music thumping through the living room. It feels good, thrumming up his spine. Something about the alcohol makes him feel loose and bendy. He downs the rest of his drink, smiling at how good the vodka tastes. He loves vodka. He loves Jeremy and hot coco and the color blue. But he loves vodka the most. He thinks. Maybe. He tries to make his legs carry him back to the kitchen for another drink but as the world bends around him, so does his vision.

      The room spins and he feels himself stumbling, mentally bracing to hit the floor. But he doesn’t. Strong hands grip his forearms instead, steadying him agains the rush of blood that makes its way to his head. His stomach lurches, but Jean swallows the nausea down. Blinking, he tries to make out the face of his savior, but the world is still blurry, and he really only recognizes the blonde hair. Jeremy has blonde hair so this guy must be alright. That strong grip leads him out of the living room and into the hallway. _Je veux un autre verre. I want another drink_. He can’t tell if he’s said it out loud, but he must have because suddenly there another red Solo cup in his hands.

      “Here you go.” Strong-Hands Man says, guiding the cup up to Jean’s mouth. It doesn’t taste right going down, but Strong-Hands hold the cup against Jean’s mouth until the last drop is sliding down his throat. It burns a little, makes Jean cough uncomfortably, as Strong-Hands leads him down the hallway. The warmth of Strong-Hands body doesn’t feel right. Not like Jeremy does. Jean’s body is heavy and uncoordinated.

      It’s wrong.

      It feels wrong.

      The next thing Jean knows, he being pushed onto a bed. He doesn’t want to be lying down, but he is. He tries to get up, but his body is so heavy. It’s like his mind has disconnected and he can’t remember how to move on his own. Strong-Hands is leaning heavily on Jean. crushing him with his weight. It doesn’t feel good. Jean doesn’t like it. He tried to tell Strong-Hands, but his tongue is heavy. Suddenly, Strong-Hands is tugging at Jean’s pants and the sharp jerk of the button being undone makes something cold in Jean’s stomach settle. He wants his pants on. He wants to leave. He wants his team.

      “Stop, no.” he mutters, clumsily trying to push the hands off his thighs. His tongue isn’t working right. It won’t say the words the right way and Strong-Hands isn’t listening. Jean furiously blinks his eyes, trying to figure out why Strong-Hands looks so familiar.

      “Stop. Struggling.” Strong-Hands growls, slapping Jean’s face before pinning his hands above his head. Fear courses through Jean as he realizes that Strong Hands is Ryan.

      Ryan Slyer, from Lit class. Terror races through Jean’s blood.

 _This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening_. He tries to shout out, call for help, but his body doesn’t belong to him right now. Ryan’s hands make their way into Jean’s boxer briefs, gripping him roughly, as tears begin to leak their way down Jean’s face. _I thought I was safe here_ , Jean thinks, before trying to beg his way to safety one more time.

      “N _on, s’il vous plaît_ ” he whimpers, “ _s’il vous plaît_.”

—

      “Jer, where is Jean?” Penny yells over the sound of the bass line.

      “WHAT?” he shouts from beside her at the beer pong table, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

      “WHERE IS JEAN?” Penny shouts again. Jeremy’s face softens in understanding before scrunching back into confusion.

      Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Jean since he brought him his second drink of the night. He had looked beautiful in the glow of the street lights flickering in through the the living room window. Jean had been leaning against the wall, entranced by the dancing. Jeremy had offered to stay and dance, but Jean had laughingly told him to go have fun, play beer pong with Galaxy, and that he could defend his own honor out here on the dance floor if need be. Changing rooms had done wonders for Jean’s ability to make decision for himself and Jeremy found himself with the understanding that Jean knew what was best for himself. So he had joined Galaxy at the beer pong table, defending their champion’s title after Galaxy had gone to get high out in the backyard.

      “I DON’T KNOW!” Jeremy shouts back at Penny, handing his pong ball off to the person behind him. He grabs Penny’s arm, mirroring her look of concern. They make their way to the living room, searching for a mop of messy dark curls, but find nothing but Jean’s abandoned jacket lying on the couch. They venture outside, grabbing Galaxy on their way to the front yard. Laila and Alvarez scoot off the front porch to join them in their search, but nobody seemed to know where their wayward backliner had gone.

      No one, that is, until a half dressed girl stumbles out of a bedroom, pointing down the hallway at a closed door.

      A locked door.

      A door that stood exactly zero chance of remaining intact once Alvarez heard the pained moan of Jean’s “non, s’il vous plaît” echoing from the other side.

—

      Jean doesn’t remember much. The bang of a door. The sound of a body hitting the floor. Penny’s horrified gasp. The sound of Jeremy on the phone. Ambulance lights. Coach’s voice. A prick in his hand. Sleepiness.

—

      _Maman’s hand is so soft on his face._

_Jean leans into it, breathes in the scent of her perfume._

_They’re sitting in his and Penny’s dorm room. He isn’t a child, but a man, taller than Maman. He blinks, tries to remember why she’s here at USC. He can feel her hand pulling away, but he doesn’t want her to go._

_He reaches for her, but she’s too far now._

_“Heure de se réveiller,” she whispers. “Time to wake up.”_

—

      When Jean blinks his heavy eyes open, it’s to the sight of Coach and his teammates sprawled on every available surface of his hospital room, sound asleep in vigil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual assault on college campuses is real. If you have experienced this, know that it is not your fault and you are not alone. 
> 
> This chapter marks the tying up of the Ryan Slyder plot line and begins the final arc towards the conclusion of this story. Jean will draw a true difference between his time at the Nest and USC, the team will learn secrets they aren't ready to learn, and healing will continue to take time and patience.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with the aftermath of an attempted sexual assault. Proceed accordingly.

      Rhemann sends the team home as soon as Jean’s admitted to a room on the third floor of Saint Francis Teaching Hospital. The ER had pumped Jean full of drugs as the detectives had taken statements from the team. Slyder had been taken into custody, the athletics department chair notified, and the media shooed away from the waiting room by hospital security. Jean had slept,peacefully, through the entire transport up to the regular ward and continued to do so as the nurses checked his vitals and hooked his IV to the contraption on the wall. With a look of understanding, the nurse had placed a cup of coffee by Rhemann’s side with a gentle smile. _I have a son too_ , she had said, which made Rhemann’s heart ache in a way that surely wasn’t her intention.

      Charlie’s head is pounding and there’s a million phone calls that he needs to make. He should check on the team and call the detectives back and notify the Board that the team is going to forfeit their game on Monday because there’s no way in hell that he’s dragging a bunch of traumatized college kids four hours down the coast to play a game that won’t even factor into their league standing. He should text his mom and ask for her broth recipe because Jean’s antibiotic, pain reliever, and prEP (Jesus fuck, his kid should be on prEP because he wants to explore his sexuality, not because of a near date rape) needs to be taken with medicine. He should set aside time to call the team’s parents to ensure them that their children are safe. He should contact Macey at The Herald and pull every favor he’s saved up over his career at USC to ensure that Jean’s name stays out of the papers. He should call Wymack and tell him what happened, ask him if he thinks this is something the crazed Edgar Allen mafia will interfere in. He should call his doctor and get a Xanax prescription if he ever wants to see a solid night’s sleep at all for the remainder of the fall season.

      But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, Charlie sits beside Jean’s bed and listens to his kid’s steady breathing. There’s nothing separating him from his boy except a flimsy, plastic hospital bed rail and even that is too much space. Rhemann slots his hands through the space between the rail and the bed to grasp Jean’s pale hand between his own. He runs his thumb up and down the warm skin, over the pulse point of his wrist, and back again, just to assure himself that Jean is alive. God, he’s so fucking tired.

—

      Rhemann takes one look at the desperation lurking in Jean’s eyes in the morning and decides that taking him home, not the dorms, is the best course of action. The attending physician signs the release forms with strict instructions for Jean to take it easy and to come back to the Emergency Room if any vomiting, hives, or loss of consciousness occur. The attending had discreetly pulled Rhemann aside while Jean had been changing to explain that the rape kit had come back negative, but that there was significant bruising to Jean’s lower extremities and an allergic reaction to whatever the he had been roofied with. He warns Rhemann that Jean’s memories are likely to filter back slowly over the next day or two, and to watch for sign of self harm, depression, and dissociation. Rhemann had wordlessly nodded his understanding before gathering his kid up and going home.

—

      Charlie watches the color return to Jean’s face as he sips at the warm broth, even though the hands around the bowl are faintly trembling.

      Jean had been unnervingly silent on the way home, plastering himself to Rhemann’s side as soon as they made it through the door. He had stared at Rhemann with a blank expression, waiting for instructions. Rhemann had mentally sighed before leading Jean to the bathroom and flicking on the shower. He had left Jean with a pair of pajamas, spare toothbrush, and instructions to come back down to the kitchen when he was done. Jean had nodded mutely before shutting the bathroom door. Rhemann had leaned against the bathroom door for a few minutes listening to the water run, simply for the comfort of knowing that Jean was on the other side of the wall, hurting but safe.

      Taking the Walgreens bag from the counter, Charlie walks to Jean’s side, placing his medicine and a glass of water beside him.

      “Gotta take these with food kid, or you’ll be sick to your stomach.” Rhemann instructs, rubbing a hand once down Jean’s back. Jean nods wearily, his head cupped over the full bowl of soup. Charlie watches in silent sorrow as a tear drops into the bowl.

      "Jean …" he said, kneeling down in front of him. “I thought I was safe" Jean says softly, staring into the bowl with a lost expression. Rhemann wipes the tears from his cheek gently, more unnerved by Jean's silent weeping than he would have been by an outburst.

      "I know, kid," Charlie said.

      “He touched me.” Jean whispers in anguish, and his hands gripped the bowl so hard that Rhemann eases it from his hold and wraps himself around him.

      "Shh …" Charlie soothes. He felt the hot wash of tears on his neck, the curl of Jean’s fists against his back.

      “He _hurt_ me.” Jean confesses brokenly, and Rhemann feels the shudder that runs through Jean from head to toe, and pulls his kid in tighter, kissing his temple, his hair, his brow, feeling the tears rising in his own chest at Jean’s grief.

      "I know, kid, I know," he says thickly, wiping at his own eyes, and trying to push away the knowledge that Jean had been hurt under his watch, while under his care, and that there was nothing to be done to ease that reality into something less painful. In the blink of an eye, his kid had been drugged, help down on a bed, and nearly raped. If his team-god, his beautiful, quick thinking, spirited team- hadn’t burst into that room and beaten the shit out of that fucker Ryan Slyder, then his kid would still be in the hospital instead of in Rhemann’s arms.

      He held on until he felt Jean’s body become lax with sleep, then stood, pulling Jean into his arms and gently carrying him upstairs to bed.

—

_Text Message: David Wymack_

_Kevin says to expect a visit from the Moriyama family. Please be careful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So honestly, I just thought up a second story line to run through this portion of the series so it's going to be a bit longer, but also give a full character arc for all of the gang. It's summer vacation so I've got time on my hands folks. Please let me know if there's anything specific you want, either in this fic or in a one shot or in the next part of the series (which is totally going to be an epic length one shot about Jean's summer with his dad...I mean...Rhemann *cough cough*).


End file.
